A Gift and A Curse
by Sherlockedmyheart
Summary: Jane discovers she's pregnant with Sherlock's baby. What will the consequences be? Could Sherlock ever be a father? Fem!John Quite a bit of swearing
1. The Blue Cross

**A Gift and A Curse**

Twenty minutes – in, test, out. Get it over and done with quickly and carry on. Twenty minutes was all she had, that was before he'd look up from his chemistry set and notice something was amiss.

But she sat, across the room from him, from that _man_, in his chair actually, watching his every move like a hawk. His attention, mind you, was solely fixed on the experiment in front of him, the complexity of which she hadn't even bothered to listen when he tried to explain.

She took a deep breath, and loosened her grip on the arms of the sofa when she noted they had become painfully white. She rubbed the front of her jeans quickly and licked her lips. It was a nervous tick she'd had since childhood which comforted her ever-so-slightly.

It was now or never.

Oh God, wouldn't never be nice…

It had to be done. _Had. To. Be. Done. _

And quickly.

And subtly.

"I'mgoingtothetoilet." She blurted out.

Perhaps not subtly.

Sherlock, or Le Git, as she'd decided to nickname him when he was being a bit of arrogant, posh, know-it-all bastard, didn't even flinch.

"Won't be long." She practically ran out the door and up the stairs, ignoring the spasm in her leg that only happened when she was stressed. She almost slammed head first into the bathroom door when she tripped on the loose carpet end on the top of the stairs.

"Sherlock! You said you were going to fix the bloody carpet!" She called down the stairs, clutching the banister for dear life.

The response she got was an automatic 'Uh-huh' from downstairs. She rolled her eyes, she probably have to do it herself especially since it took six fucking months for her to train Sherlock to go and get milk.

She growled as she stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her, locking it a bit more forcefully than she should've done really. Well, subtlety had just shot itself in the head and fallen out of the window; thank God Le Git's attention was on something else.

She leant against the door heavily. She closed her eyes and breathed softly in and out…in and out…in and out…

Her eyes flew open at the sound of a soft knock at the door. In seconds she regained her composure and opened the door, peeping through the crack. Mrs Hudson stood just outside, beaming at her and waved a blue pharmacy bag in her face.

"I got it, just as you said, dearie. I also bought some pads so I could hide it underneath. Sherlock didn't suspect a thing." She giggled shamelessly. "Oh, I can't wait to see his face when you tell him, Jane!"

Jane paled and smiled weakly. "Yes, well…we'll see what it reads, eh?"

"Oh but what about the symptoms, love? You said yourself –"

"Yes, but I could be wrong!" Jane hissed. In a moment the anger had vanished from her eyes and she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I didn't mean to snap at you, like that."

Mrs. Hudson rubbed her arm gently. "It's alright, dear. It's scary and your hormones are all over the place. Oh, I tell you, if a man went through what we do, they'd be a much better race!" She said as she pressed the bag into Jane's hands.

Jane genuinely smiled. "Thank you, for everything."

"It's no problem, Jane. Call me if you need anything." Mrs. Hudson smiled and quickly disappeared down the stairs.

Jane closed the door softly and pulled the pads from the bag first, she smiled at the old woman's resourcefulness. She chucked the pads underneath the sink.

She took a deep breath in before plunging her hand into the bag. Her stomach churned slightly when her hand closed around a box. She breathed out shakily as she pulled the box out.

_**Clearblue Digital with Contraception Indicator**_

_**Pregnant: +**_

_**Not Pregnant: –**_

Jane's first reaction was to tut good naturedly at Mrs. Hudson's habit of buying the most expensive brand of whatever she was asked to get. She toyed with the box in her hands; a feeling of complete dread slowly washing over her.

The feeling of dread soon developed to one of overwhelming terror. There were only two other occasions when she'd felt like that. The first was when she was in the Afghan desert with a bullet through her shoulder and the second was when she watched the most brilliant and fucked up man jump of the roof of Barts.

"Oh shitting hell, this is actually happening." She choked out, her voice a mixture between a sob and a whisper.

She quickly wiped the impending tears away with the back of her hand; silently scolding herself for being so ridiculously emotional. She rolled her eyes because of her overreaction.

It. Was. Going to be. _Fine_.

In those next few minutes Jane appreciated the lengths she asked a patient to go to when she asked them to give a stool sample. It was messy and disturbingly unhygienic.

After scrubbing her hands twice and reciting 'Happy Birthday' in her head each time she sat on the toilet lid and waited. And waited. And waited.

And then she saw a blue cross.


	2. The Confession

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 2**

The tears rolled down her face and she did nothing to stop them, the terror she felt absorbed her whole being making sure she was frozen in place.

'_Oh dear God no…please no.'_

She rocked gently, back and forth still staring at the test in her hands. "Oh Jesus Christ, fucking hell, shit, bollocks…oh my fucking God."

She allowed the test to drop to the floor as she buried her head in her hands. "Oh please don't be true…please, please be wrong."

Jane knew she would've probably continued her hysteria if it wasn't for the gentle knocking on the door.

"Jane…Jane? Is everything alright, love?" Mrs. Hudson whispered. How did that woman always manage to arrive at the most inconvenient times?

Jane wiped her eyes quickly with toilet roll. "Uh, yeah…yeah. Fine. Absolutely fine."

'_But it's not is it? Nothing will ever be fine again, will it?' _The voice in her head, that sounded a lot like Harry, hissed bitterly.

Jane stood up and opened the door slightly, showing only a margin of her face. Mrs. Hudson's smile dropped immediately.

"Jane? What's wrong?" Mrs. Hudson had adopted the same tone that Jane remembered her mother using when she needed to be comforted. Something, possibly the memory of her mother, made the tears leak from her eyes.

Mrs. Hudson pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside the bathroom with Jane. She proceeded to kick the door shut with her foot and wrapped her arms around the younger woman's sobbing shoulders. Jane allowed herself to be embraced by Mrs. Hudson and placed her head at the crook of Mrs. Hudson's neck.

"Shhh…Shhh, it's alright. Come on, sweetheart. What's the matter? Where's the test? What did it say, hmm?"

Jane waved her hand vaguely in the direction of where she threw the test. Mrs. Hudson led Jane towards the bath where they both sat on the edge. Mrs. Hudson knelt down to pick up the test but before she reached it, Jane blurted out:

"It's positive. Oh God, what am I going to do? H-how can I tell him?" Jane buried her head in her hands and shook as her body was racked with sobs.

Mrs. Hudson placed her arm over Jane's shoulders and spoke calmly.

"Jane Honora Watson, listen to me. This is not something to be worried about, you understand me? This is one of the most joyous things in life and Sherlock is going to share that joy with you. And, if he does not then so help me I'm bloody well make him."

Throughout the course of Mrs. Hudson's speech, Jane's body began to relax and slowly she drew herself up. Mrs. Hudson ran her fingers through Jane's curly blonde hair and smiled.

"There. Feeling better now?" Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"But it's not safe. How can we bring up a child in this environment? Sherlock won't change, he just never will and a child…would be too much of a shock to his system. And what happens when we do keep the child? We can't keep it a secret. It will be a target to get to us…people will try to get to us through it. There's only so much protection we can give."

"Yes…I can see why you'd be terrified but you can't deny that you haven't got any choices. You've got the British government on your side, darling."

Jane looked at Mrs. Hudson. "How do you -?"

Mrs. Hudson winked. "Oh, you'd be surprised sweetheart…not very much escapes me."

Jane had to smile. Mrs. Hudson was a remarkable woman and there was no denying it. Jane frowned and looked slightly nervous as she asked, "How much do you know?"

"Oh…enough. Now, enough about me. You're the one having the emotional breakdown on the bathroom floor. So…what are you going to do?"

"I have to tell him," She snorted. "I can't sodding well not can I?" Jane breathed out slowly. "How do you think he'll react?"

Mrs. Hudson shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. But you're going to find out."

Mrs. Hudson rubbed circles soothingly into her back.

"Hm…oh God…right. I better do it now then." Jane gave Mrs. Hudson a weak smile before standing up. She extended her hand towards Mrs. Hudson, who held it tightly.

"Wish me luck?"

Mrs. Hudson just smiled sympathetically and Jane took that as her cue to leave. She walked out of the bathroom and then it hit her how unreal the situation seemed.

They'd been careful hadn't they? They were always careful, each and every time, which to be fair, was a lot. For a man supposedly 'asexual' he wasn't half eager. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he'd been celibate for so long. Maybe he was going through that 'desperate for sex' phase that most teenagers go through.

Jane giggled almost hysterically at the notion which was surprisingly true. She ran her fingers through her hair and composed herself before clutching the banister with an iron grip as she walked back down the stairs.

Sherlock had apparently not finished his experiment and was still hunched over the microscope. He did however tilt his head marginally as she came in. "How was the toilet?"

Jane shook her head in relatively good humour at the condescending git. "Fine. Yes…uh…Sherlock? I need to talk to you."

Sherlock didn't move an inch. Jane had labelled it his 'selective deafness' and generally the only thing that could bring him out of it was her being naked or someone screaming.

Well, Jane certainly did feel like screaming and was absolutely sure that she'd never take her clothes off for the bastard ever again again.

"Sherlock, I really, _really_ need to talk to you. _Now_." To her annoyance her voice cracked slightly at the end but it did seem to get through to Sherlock. He actually turned his head towards her.

"What is it? Can it wait I'm in the middle of reacting –"

"Bugger your reaction!" Jane exploded. She lowered her head and breathed slowly before raising it again and looking him directly in the eye.

For a moment she could've sworn she saw something akin to fear flash in his eyes but in milliseconds it was replaced by his usual cool exterior.

"Alright," He turned his whole body towards her. "What matter would you like to discuss with me?"

'_What matter would you like to discuss with me?' _The voice or Harry mocked. _'Oh, I don't know…let's say the potential breakdown of your relationship?'_

Jane drew herself up to her full height, which in all honesty was only five foot six but it still gave her the confidence she needed. That was, until she looked into his eyes.

She knew she was going to cry, she just knew it and right at the moment when their eyes met. She hadn't felt like this much of an emotional wreck since Sherlock's 'returned from the dead'.

Sherlock rose instantaneously and crossed the room in six long strides until he wrapped his arms around Jane and pulled her into his chest. Sherlock didn't comfort her with words, he never did and Jane honestly never expected him to but it was the beating of his heart underneath that grey silk shirt that calmed her in minutes.

Sherlock manoeuvred her backwards and pushed her gently into her chair. He knelt down next to her. He held her hand and drew patterns with his thumb over her knuckles.

He didn't speak, which she was immensely grateful for as it gave her time to regain what very little was left of her pride and composure. She sighed heavily. She decided to fix her gaze firmly on the chair because she knew she couldn't bear to look at him.

She couldn't bear to watch as her life crumbled before her very eyes, again.

"I'm pregnant." She whispered, feeling her heart tear in two inside her chest. "I'm pregnant and it's your baby."


	3. Three Options

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 3**

He didn't say anything.

Absolutely nothing.

Not one word.

Neither of them did.

It was just silence.

God awful silence.

He hadn't pulled away in disgust yet, which Jane thought was a good sign but he'd still neglected to jump up and down in joy and go running out of Baker Street banging one of the lids of Mrs. Hudson's bins, shouting that he was going to be a father.

But then again, it would be more likely for Sherlock to get pregnant than for him to do that. But Jane was alright with that, perfectly and absolutely fine with that.

His hand remained on hers. She could feel the warmth emanating from those beautifully talented fingers. She wanted more than anything to grab him, hold onto him and never let go.

She wanted him to hold her tightly back and whisper that everything was going to be alright and there was no need to worry but he didn't. He just breathed and blinked and then simply asked:

"Are you sure?"

Jane nodded, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks once again. "I've missed one cycle and I've just completed a test, I have the typical symptoms."

Sherlock remained quiet after that, he just stared down at their hands. Then, he rose and Jane reluctantly let go of his hand. And, without another word he walked out of the living room and down the stairs. She heard Mrs. Hudson's voice echo from downstairs and the front door slam closed.

Jane still hadn't taken her eyes off Sherlock's chair; her tears no longer fell and no longer threatened to as a white hot rage built inside her. Rage and betrayal. That's what she felt. She had needed him and he had just walked out of the door.

'_You see,' _Harry's voice mocked. '_You see what he did? You honestly expect him to want to raise a child with you? My God you are an idiot, aren't you? No wonder he just walked out of the door.'_

She closed her eyes and clutched the sides of her chair with a death grip. There was only one man she could turn to for…help. She pulled her mobile out of her pocket and dialled a 'blocked' number.

"Mycroft. We need to talk. Pick me up."

She didn't wait for his reply and she abruptly ended the phone call. Mrs. Hudson had decided to appear in the room just as Jane pulled herself up from the chair and shoved on her military jacket.

She tied her hair back in a pony tail as she spoke briskly. "I'm going out. I don't know how long I'll be." She stuffed her keys, phone and purse into the various pockets in her jacket.

Jane tried to get past Mrs. Hudson but the older woman grabbed Jane's arm. "Jane, please, don't do anything crass."

"Oh believe me, that's already been done. This is just the aftermath." Jane pulled her arm away from the strong grip and hurried down the stairs before Mrs. Hudson could say anything else.

As she expected, a black BMW had pulled up on the curb. Jane got inside and glanced out of the blacked out window to see Mrs. Hudson standing at the doorway on the verge of tears.

Jane kept her head down staring at the dry mud on her black Doc Martens. She spent the rest of the journey through London tracing the pattern of her shoe laces and tapping nervously on the leather seat next to her.

They pulled up the Diogenes Club which Jane was mildly surprised about as she more expected the car to pull up to another warehouse. Unphased, she burst out of the car door and up the steps of the Diogenes. She was greeted by a mildly surprised doorman, which she also ignored and headed straight for the Strangers' Room.

She burst through the door without knocking and saw Mycroft sat at his desk, concentrating on whatever he was writing. Behind her the abused doorman spoke up,

"I'm terribly sorry, Sir. But there was no stopping her, if you want I can call security –"

Mycroft didn't look up from his writing, instead he just waved a hand in the general direction of the doorman, which silenced the man immediately and he took it as his cue to leave.

Jane seated herself opposite Mycroft at the other side of his desk. The two sat in silence for a few minutes as Mycroft finished writing. Jane took that time to study her baby's uncle.

He was still wearing a grey three piece suit but he'd placed his jacket on the back of the chair and had unbuttoned the first few buttons of his waistcoat. He wore glasses at the end of his nose, which seemed to make him look more intimidating than he already was.

Eventually Mycroft put down his pen and placed his glasses on the desk. "Doctor Watson, I hope that you have a valid reason for this meeting as I have had to call off a meeting with the French Ambassador –"

"I'm pregnant."

Mycroft's mouth remained slightly open, which for Mycroft must have been an extremely undignified gesture. Which he rectified immediately.

"Well…I suppose congratulations are in order. Forgive me for asking such a…personal question but –"

"Yes, Sherlock is the father. Yes, I have told him and no, he did not take it very well. He just walked out of the flat."

"Ah…I can see why that would be upsetting for you but you must understand that my brother falters with his emotions."

"Oh trust me, his emotions were not faltering when we conceived it."

There was a slight blush on Mycroft's cheeks which made Jane feel a sense of triumph at surprising Mycroft Holmes _and _making him blush.

"Well I don't see how I could possibly help you. Surely this matter is between yourself and my brother."

"What options do I have?"

"With regards to what, Jane? I'm afraid I don't see how I could be of service to you. Alas, this was not really a matter I anticipated."

"Oh please, Mycroft. You know as well as I do Sherlock and I are not suitable parents. As soon as this child was conceived its life is now in danger. It will be used as a way to get to us. For a start there's Moran to contend with, Moriarty may be dead but Moran is alive and kicking around somewhere. And you and I both know...Sherlock's not exactly...father material. Now tell me, _what options do I have_?"

Mycroft leant back in his chair and placed his hands under his chin. Jane was slightly disturbed at the realisation of how similar Mycroft looked to Sherlock when they adopted similar poses.

Mycroft rang his tongue over his teeth and looked at Jane with a mixture of sympathy and apprehension.

"As far as I can see Jane, you have three options. The first is that you go through with the pregnancy and put the child up for adoption, which I personally advice against as you will most likely develop an unconscious relationship with the child and therefore it will be more difficult to give it up. The second option is that you go through with the pregnancy, keep the child and I arrange a safe house for you to live in until this business with Moran is over."

Mycroft paused, he frowned slightly.

"What is the third?" Jane asked, already knowing what he was going to say.

"I take you to a clinic and you have an abortion." He said emotionlessly.

Jane looked at Mycroft, silently wishing he'd make the decision for her. Impossible of course but it was a slightly comforting idea while it lasted. Jane looked down at her hands, she knew which one she had to pick. For all three of them.

"The third," She murmured. "I choose the third."


	4. Exceptional Circumstances

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 4**

Mycroft didn't object like she expected him to; instead he nodded and spoke quietly.

"When would you like the ab-your appointment to take place?"

"Tomorrow, the earlier the better," She paused; she could feel a lump in her throat forming. "I can't – not tonight."

"I understand. I can arrange a car to take you home or I can ask James to hail a taxi to take you back?"

"Mycroft…Sherlock and I…we aren't on the best of terms at the moment…"

"Ah…I see. So, I suppose you do not wish to go back to Baker Street tonight?"

"No…not really."

In all honesty she would rather be anywhere else than Baker Street. It seemed like the root of all her problems were in Baker Street and had the name Sherlock Holmes.

"There are some rooms upstairs at the disposal of our members obviously I assure you our complete discretion. I'd say this was an exceptional circumstance."

Jane couldn't think of anything else to say so she simply thanked him. Mycroft shrugged it off, it was as if the gravity of the situation hadn't hit him yet, or that he was completely unaffected by it.

"I'll have James show you to one of the rooms."

Jane rose just as a middle aged butler came in; he wore a simple black suit with immaculately polished shoes and white gloves. He had grey thinning hair and there was absolutely no trace of facial hair.

"Sir?" His voice was indistinctive as it held no accent.

Jane felt rather unnerved at how there was nothing truly distinctive about the man, he was the kind of man that was faceless and knew it. He was all but invisible.

"James, please show my guest up to one of the rooms upstairs. I'd like you to personally make sure she has everything she requires."

"Yes sir." James inclined his slightly and turned his attention to Jane. "Madam? If you would care to follow me?"

James opened the door for Jane and the two stepped out. James didn't speak but the look in his eyes said '_Follow me_'. And so Jane did. James led her down corridors filled with portraits people long dead until they reached a large mahogany door.

James opened it and stepped to aside to let Jane enter before him. Once they'd both entered James shut the door carefully.

"You're free to talk in here, Madam. It shares similar rules with the Strangers' Room."

Jane smiled half-heartedly. It wasn't that she was intentionally being rude; she just didn't have the energy to bring herself to be polite. Thankfully, James didn't seem to mind.

The room was typical of Mycroft Holmes, practical yet undoubtedly luxurious. Everything in the room was minimal yet expensive. The room housed a four poster bed, wardrobe, desk situated by the windows (which were drawn by the curtains) and a roaring fire with two dark emerald Chesterfield armchairs.

Jane went over to the armchair and slumped in it, completely exhausted. Now the upset and anger had settled for the moment she felt fatigue wash over her.

"Is there anything I can get you Madam?"

Jane looked up and was startled to see James still in the room. She rubbed her eyes in an attempt to look more awake.

"No thank you I…oh…uh…I know this may sound a bit strange but I've only just realised –" She blushed faintly. "I…don't have anything to sleep in."

James nodded in understanding and walked to the wardrobe which looked exactly like the kind of wardrobe that housed Narnia. But instead of finding a winter forest, James pulled out a white nightgown that looked like it had been imported straight from a Jane Austin book.

Jane blinked for a couple of seconds, trying to formulate exactly what to say. James looked directly at her and with no hint of embarrassment said;

"Some of our members have more of a select taste for what they would like their…female companions…to wear."

"Oh," Jane said not fully understanding what he'd just said. Until she repeated it in her head and then it clicked. "_Oh_, oh…I'm-I'm not a…_female companion_…I'm a friend of Mycroft's…brother." Jane blushed furiously. "I'm really not."

"Please accept my apology Madam, I didn't mean to embarrass you. If this isn't suitable enough for you I can see if there's anything else available?"

"No, it's fine…to be honest; I don't care what I sleep in as long I actually get some sleep tonight."

"Very good, Madam. Can I offer you anything to drink before you retire to bed?"

"Do…do you have whiskey?"

"Indeed we do, Madam. Will Royal Brackla Single Highland Malt do?"

"Uh…yes, thanks."

"Very good Madam and if it may say so, an excellent choice." James said before leaving the room.

She had never heard of it but and knowing Mycroft it was probably going to be ridiculously expensive. Jane knew medically that it wasn't the best idea to drink but that fact that it was the very early stages of the pregnancy and that she was going to have it aborted anyway meant that she really didn't give a shit. Selfish, yes, but not entirely unjustified.

James returned in very little time and came back carrying a tray with a single whiskey glass balanced on top of it. He offered the tray to her and Jane accepted the glass gratefully.

"Thank you."

"Is there anything else you require madam?" James tucked the try underneath his arm.

"No, nothing else."

"Very good. Goodnight, Madam."

"Goodnight, James."

Jane watched James exit the room one last time before turning her head languidly to stare into the fire. She rested the glass onto the arm of the Chesterfield. She closed her eyes, promising herself that it would only be for a moment.

She listened to the sound of the fire crackle and the radiating heat gently caress her skin. It was blissful but there was something wrong.

Sherlock wasn't there.

He wasn't sat opposite her talking aimlessly or playing his violin or even just sat there enjoying the silence with her. God, it felt wrong. They hadn't been apart in months and she realised with a heavy heart that this the first she'd slept in a separate bed to him for months.

"I trust you know the implications of drinking alcohol when with a child?" Mycroft's slow drawl brought her out of her mind and her eyes flew open.

The elder Holmes was leant against the door, arms crossed, glasses tucked into his shirt pocket and staring very intently at Jane.

"What does it matter?" Jane spat. "I'm losing it tomorrow anyway, aren't I?"

"There is always the choice not to choose that option."

"You know that's not a choice." The bitterness was adamantly clear in her voice, so much so that it almost took Mycroft back, almost.

"Jane, I am not here to berate you on your choice, as I'm sure you will complete that task perfectly well on your own. Nor am I trying to act as a relationship counsellor. I am here to give you the facts."

Mycroft strode over to the second armchair and settled himself into it.

"And the facts are these; you have conceived my brother's child. Which, I admit, when you first told me I felt somewhat… elated for the two of you. It is also clear that neither of you are suited to be parents, I'm sure your mothering instinct is perfectly sound and there is no doubt that you will love the child. But, children to not survive on love alone.  
You will have to change your lifestyles which is clear to me that neither of you are willing to do. Sherlock most probably won't and you won't do it without him. This is the dilemma and your fears aren't unjustified. Now you have decided to submit yourself to an abortion without consulting my brother. I am not asking for you not to go through with it, all I am asking is that you wait, just for a few hours, for Sherlock to turn up and you talk with him. If you both agree that an abortion is for the best than I will have no qualms about arranging an appointment for you. Are those terms acceptable to you?"

If it wasn't for that fact that Jane was indescribably tired she probably would've put up some form of protest or argument but she didn't. She nodded and passed the whiskey glass over to Mycroft who accepted it without another word.

He rose with the glass in hand and went to the door but just before exiting he said softly; "Goodnight, Jane. Sleep as well as you can." And without giving Jane another chance to reply, he was gone.

Jane looked over to where the four poster bed was situated in the middle of the room. For something so old it looked so comfortable. She got up out of the chair and crossed the room to where James had hung the nightgown.

She undressed quickly and left her clothes in an ungracious heap on the floor. The soft cotton nightdress slid over her head with ease and hugged her body as if it had been made for her.

She dragged her heavy feet over to the bed, threw back the covers and fell into the bed. Seconds later she fell into the gloriously open arms of a dreamless sleep.


	5. The Right Man

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 5**

'_**I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant and it's your baby**.'_

For the first time in years, Sherlock Holmes had no idea what to think. He walked or to put it more accurately stumbled down an alleyway, his head still reeling with what Jane had said.

His mind replayed that scene in vivid detail, over and over each time he discovered something more. His head pounded viciously, as it practically screamed the deductions at him.

_(Jane: t-shirt not washed in three days, jeans recently washed this morning, hair relatively clean, roots need dying, probably realise this in the next couple of days, shaking, traces of tears, shoulder tense – wound paining her, legs muscle twitching involuntarily – likely chance of limp returning. Conclusion: severe metal distress -)_

It was then he tripped over the lid of a bin. His hands connected with the floor to minimise the fall but that didn't stop his knees hitting the concrete with an agonising crunch.

He swore colourfully under his breath, before climbing back to his feet. He wiped specs of gravel off his hand and off the damp patches where his knees had connected with the ground.

Sherlock continued, albeit unsteadily down the alleyway until he emerged from the alley and right on the South Bank of the Thames. He walked up to the rails and clung onto them, staring down at the murky water below.

The cold breeze hit his face; it felt as if the wind was running its icy fingers through his hair, chilling him to the very core. His body was shaking even though he wore the Belstaff coat.

Oh dear God, how could this happen? How could he father a child? Well, he knew _how_, of course he did. During his adolescence he'd read science books and once, just once, looked through a…gentleman's magazine, which had been unpleasant to say the least, especially when Mycroft caught him with it.

It was in University when he finally brought himself to have intercourse. It was with a girl whose name he'd long since deleted. The memory was hazy and vague due to the fact that alcohol had played a large role in the entertainment of the night. But, he had to admit it wasn't a complete waste of an evening, some of it had been quite enjoyable.

But he'd been just as careful then as he was now but Sherlock knew there was always that 1%, the margin of error, the weak link in the chain. Now, apparently, that had happened and, he had no idea what to think. Or feel. Or do.

Then his pocket buzzed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the message. Unsurprisingly it was from Mycroft.

_**Why has Jane requested a meeting with me?**_

_**She will be arriving shortly.**_

_**I suggest you hurry with your answer.**_

_**MH**_

Sherlock raised his eyebrow, of all the things he expected Jane to do, going to Mycroft wasn't one of them. Sherlock didn't brother replying to his brother, he knew that if he did only more questions would follow.

It was only a matter of time before he would receive more messages (and ignore those too) and eventually Mycroft would pick him up on cameras and trace his movements until he would be intercepted by a car and MI6.

The only thing he could really do now was wait. Wait for Mycroft to fix this, to make it all go away like he'd done since childhood.

Sherlock stuffed his hands in his pockets and closed his eyes. There was very little chance that he'd get any peace but he had two choices to calm his mind down; the first was concentrating on his sensations, the second was cocaine.

For the first time in his adult life he could honestly say that he couldn't stomach cocaine.

He tried to concentrate, he genuinely did but there was something building inside him, inside his chest that kept his techniques from working. It burned – it actually _hurt_ but the bizarre thing was it wasn't wholly unpleasant just…new.

He needed to talk to someone, or to put it more accurately, he needed to question them, to collect information and then compare it to his own. Hopefully, he would finally get some answers.

Compare his…feelings…to that of someone normal. And he knew the exact man to experiment on. He pulled his phone out of his pocket just as it buzzed again.

_**Jane is pregnant.**_

_**She is also extremely distressed.**_

_**She will no doubt make drastic decisions unless you talk to her.**_

_**MH**_

Sherlock ignored the message and typed a new message quickly.

_**Lestrade,**_

_**Meet me in Angelo Costello's restaurant,**_

_**It's just on the edge of Northumberland Street.**_

_**It's urgent.**_

_**SH**_

Sherlock spun on his heel and walked. Along with many other things along with keys, he'd forgotten to bring money so a cab was out of question. He didn't bother putting his phone back in his pocket mainly because of the fact that Lestrade would ring him in…

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

His phone vibrated angrily and Sherlock answered in one fluid movement.

"Lestrade, good evening. I trust I'm not disturbing? No, good."

_(-"Sherlock what's –")_

"Nothing is wrong, Lestrade. Not physically at least. I need…I need a favour from you."

_(-"What? Why? What kind of favour are you talking about?")_

"I'll explain everything when you meet me."

_(-"Is it about a case?")_

"No!" Sherlock said exasperated by Lestrade's persistent nagging. "I just need to talk to you…as a friend."

_(-"Uh…right, okay. Angelo's you say? Right…didn't I arrest him?")_

"Yes, triple homicide in Brixton. Debora Carlson framed him, remember?"

_(-"Oh yeah, I remember now. Okay, well I'll see you there. I'm just finishing some business in the station I'll be about twenty minutes is that alright?")_

"Yes, I'll meet you there shortly."

_(-"Sherlock, before I go I just wanted to ask, is everything alright with Jane? She seemed a bit –")_

Sherlock ended the conversation before Lestrade could finish. He pulled the battery out of the back of his phone and chucked it into the river bellow.

No interruptions, not tonight.


	6. The Sibling Problem

A Gift and a Curse

**Chapter 6**

"_Monsieur Pascal, Je m'excuse profondément pour –" _

Mycroft rolled his eyes as the French ambassador's secretary refused to let him continue and rattled on furiously. The French could be ridiculously difficult sometimes.  
Mycroft valiantly tried again

"_Oui, oui, je comprends que vous avez un calendrier serré pour conserver, mais il y avait une question pressante qui ne pouvait tout simplement pas être reportée –"_

The ambassador's secretary, a man going by the name of Alexandre Pascal cut Mycroft off and continued with his rant, mentioning words such as 'outragious', 'disgraceful' and 'atrocious'.

"_Vous oubliez votre position actuelle, monsieur. Je vais maintenant vous transférez à ma secrétaire et il réorganiser la réunion. Bonne soirée, Monsieur Pascal."_

Mycroft spoke calmly but there was an unmistakeable edge to his voice, which undoubtably put the secretary in his place.

He slammed the phone down on the high pitched Frenchman's rant. Mycroft leant back in his chair and sighed.

He closed his eyes momentarily as he could feel as headache coming on. He rubbed his temples gently. He knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight. He rarely slept anyway, his normal routine was to go to sleep at precisely 4:06 and wake up at 7:37.

Just like his brother Mycroft didn't need that much sleep to continue on with his day but unlike his brother he did need to actually _sleep_.

On the topic of his brother...

Mycroft picked his phone up off the desk and began his bombardment by text.

_**Sherlock, are you aware of what Jane wants to do with the child ?**_

_**With **your **child.**_

_**MH**_

_**She is insisting that I arrange an appointment at an abortion clinic.**_

_**MH**_

_**Sherlock Holmes your child is going to die tomorrow if you don't do anything to stop it.**_

_**MH**_

_**Jane is insistent – verging on hysterical, so I highly suggest you do something about it. **_

_**MH**_

_**Sherlock, please…please just respond when you get these messages.**_

_**MH**_

Mycroft gave up texting and slammed his phone down on the desk in annoyance.

Why on God's earth did siblings have to exist? And why must they be so bloody trying?

Of all the problems Mycroft dealt with on a daily basis, Sherlock Holmes was definitely the most infuriating.

He had received no word from his own 'Irregulars' that Sherlock had turned to Baker Street and there hadn't been any confirmation that Sherlock was in St. Bart's so the question was; where was he?

Mycroft just hoped from the bottom of his heart (although that statement could be disputed as he had been often informed that he didn't have a heart, but still) that Sherlock wasn't lying motionless in some filthy alley drugged up to his eyeballs. But…perhaps Sherlock wasn't alone, even though it was unlikely, he still might be with an…acquaintance.

He picked up the phone and was answered immediately by his tired sounding secretary.

"Yessir?"

"Sosa, I want the current surveillance footage on Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade."

Mycroft put the phone down and a minute later a sharply dressed young man in a grey suit entered carrying a laptop.

He placed the laptop in front of Mycroft and played the surveillance video.

"He left Scotland Yard at around half nine, sir. We've traced him as far as Northumberland Street. Then he entered…Angelo's Restaurant. I'm afraid we can't get any footage from inside the actual restaurant, sir. We think Mr. Holmes had placed disrupters in the restaurant."

Mycroft 'hmm'ed thoughtfully. "How was the French Ambassador?"

"He was exceedingly…French."

The side of Mycroft's mouth twitched in amusement. "But you drove the message home?"

"Oh of course, sir. Monsieur Pascal shall trouble us no more."

Richard Sosa was a young man in his mid twenties; he was tall and always immaculately dressed. The man was practically elegance personified. He was also one of the fastest typists in England and remarkably intelligent for a man not originally middle-class bred.

Sosa was a handsome man with sparkling dark green eyes and pale features but thankfully not interested in pursuing a relationship with either sex. His dark brown hair was prematurely greying at the roots and there were bags under his eyes. All were indications that he was an extremely hard-worker.

Sosa stood opposite Mycroft, his hands behind his back and standing with an almost military-like stance.

"Very good, thank you Sosa."

"Is there anything else you require, sir?"

"No. You may go home now if you wish."

The young man's face lit up. "Thank you, sir. Do you want me to call Isis?"

"Is that what she's calling herself now?"

"Indeed, sir. She would pick the name of a Goddess."

"Hm…yes, yes. Tell her to arrive but tell her there is no rush."

"Very good, sir. Goodnight Mr. Holmes."

"Goodnight Sosa."

Sosa walked out of the door. Mycroft took no real notice of the younger man's absence as his attention was absorbed by the footage of the silver haired detective walked through the doors of Angelo's Restaurant.

Mycroft leaned back and sighed heavily. "Well Sherlock…you've chosen worse people to obtain information from. Let us hope the good detective knows what he's talking about."


	7. Investigations and Intoxication

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 7**

Angelo's was packed, the large second generation Italian's homemade dishes were popular and if Sherlock was in the mood to sample some of the dishes, he could even understand what the fuss was about.

Waiters milled around his table at the back of the restaurant; a flickering candle was placed in the centre of his table which gave some light in the darkened corner. He scanned the crowd idly, taking no real interest in the things he deduced.

Sherlock kept his eyes glued on the door where Angelo himself was acting as the Maitre d'. He glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that Lestrade was forty seven seconds late.

Speaking – or thinking in Sherlock's case, of the devil and he appeared. Lestrade entered looking like his usual haggard self, even if there was a look of apprehension in his eyes.

He greeted Angelo who stared coldly at him. Sherlock could just about make out his name being said and Angelo's demeanour changed to a marginally less hostile one. He shouted in Italian to one of the waiters and a young girl scuttled towards Lestrade.

She led him towards the table and Lestrade sat down opposite Sherlock.

"Can I get you gentlemen any drinks?" She asked nervously.

It was then Sherlock remembered she was the waitress he deduced was having a less than strictly platonic relationship with her Geography teacher. Which, for the record, was still continuing even though she'd left school around five or six months ago.

Lestrade opened his mouth to answer but Sherlock got there before him.

"No. Thank you. Now please leave."

The waitress scrambled away. Lestrade stared at Sherlock and Sherlock stared at Lestrade. The two were in complete silence until Sherlock spoke.

"Don't. Just don't."

"Don't what?" Lestrade asked calmly.

"Don't try to deduce things. You'll just fail." Sherlock informed him.

"Ah. I see." Lestrade said, realisation dawning on him. "I get it now." He nodded slowly. "Well since it looks like we're going to be here for a while." He stood up and shrugged off his black raincoat, placing over the back of the chair.

Sherlock eyed him suspiciously. "What?" He eventually said. "What is it Lestrade –"

"Since you wanted to talk to me as your 'friend' I'd say calling me Greg would be a good idea."

Greg leant back against his chair, looking a lot more relaxed than he did when he entered the room. There was also the ghost of a smile on his face. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but Greg stopped him by holding his hand up.

"It's about Jane isn't it."

"Well…yes."

"I thought so, right. I suppose you and Jane have known each other for a long time haven't you? And instead of leaving you like any bloody sane women would do when you…left…she stayed right where she was."

"That was her choice. I had no input on that –"

"Do you or do you not want her to marry you?"

Sherlock stared at Greg dumbfounded. "Pardon?"

"Look, it's obvious that you two…" Greg shifted in his seat awkwardly. "…love…each other and it's only right that that's the next step you would like to take in your relationship."

Sherlock's expression remained blank, as if Greg was speaking an alien language. Greg suddenly became unsure of himself.

"You did want to ask advice on how to ask her to marry you didn't you?"

"No."

"Oh." Lestrade faintly blushed. "What exactly did you want on?"

"Jane's pregnant."

"Bloody hell. Urgh…well done mate." Greg smiled or tried to but when he saw the look on Sherlock's face, his smile disappeared in an instant. "Ah…I take it, the baby wasn't planned."

"Excellent deduction, Lestrade. You've out done yourself."

"I'm not a Detective Inspector for nothing." Greg smiled grimly. "Why did you ask me here? Shouldn't you be with Jane?"

At the mention of Jane's name Sherlock flinched, it was almost unnoticeable but Greg saw it.

"Ah…right…you had a fight."

"Something along those lines." Sherlock murmured.

"What happened?" Greg leaned forward, genuinely interested.

"She…told me…"

"And?"

"And I went to clear my head."

Greg stared at Sherlock in disbelief. "You ran away?"

Sherlock drew himself up, "I did not 'run away'. I never 'run away'." He protested but Lestrade was unconvinced.

"You walked out when she told she was pregnant. Jesus Mary mother of Christ I am surprised she didn't brain you with the nearest object to hand!"

"Then please enlighten, Detective Inspector, what was I suppose to have done?" There was an edge to Sherlock's voice but Lestrade completely ignored it.

"Well for a start you shouldn't have bloody pegged it. Secondly you probably should've hugged her and actually _displayed_ a positive emotion. Alright let's try another way…how did you feel when Jane told you? Happy? Proud? Denial?"

"Lestrade, I may be a sociopath but I am not wholly ignorant of emotions. I know exactly what I felt."

"And what was that?" Greg bit the inside of his lip, it was a nervous tick he'd developed when he was a child and it stuck. He had no idea how to deal with Sherlock in the best of times but now…Jesus, he'd rather face murdering, drug dealing, bastard rapists than have to talk to Sherlock about his 'feelings'.

"I felt…" Sherlock took a deep breath. "You want the truth, Lestrade? Then fine, I felt…afraid."

Lestrade felt relief flood through him but he kept his expression as serious as possible. "Well," He began. "I should bloody well hope so. When Elle told me she was pregnant I practically shat myself. Now, since you dragged me all the way out here, you're getting in the first round, understand?"

* * *

Sherlock stood on the doorstep of 221B trying to fit the key back in the lock. He knew he was drunk. He didn't like to drink, drinking slowed down the brains receptors and killed brain cells and more importantly made him feel like complete shit the morning after.

But funnily enough, Gregory Lestrade was a hard man to say no to once his mind was set on something. And in that case his mind was set on having a drink, with Sherlock…well, more than one drink more like seven or eight. Still, Lestrade had given some fairly decent advice.

Flowers, chocolate, jewellery, perfume, a profound apology, puppy-dog eyes and him wearing the purple shirt should, apparently, do the trick.

Eventually his key slid into the lock and Sherlock pushed the door open. The only other time he'd succeeded in having such a poor sense of direction was when he'd taken a less than legal drug.

By some miracle he managed to get up the stairs without slamming him face down on one of the steps. He burst into the living room. There was no one there. Well, he didn't honestly expect her to be home.

He'd just have the wait until the morning if he wanted to rectify the mistakes he'd made. He collapsed face first onto the sofa, genuinely not bothered about the fact that his shoes, coat and scarf was still on.

Just before darkness clouded the edges of his vision, he thought of something important he needed to do when he woke up; he remembered that he'd have to shove the spare battery in the second draw down in the kitchen into his phone. He could just about imagine the amount of texts Mycroft would've sent him by now.

The thought of the British Government sat there texting his brother all night long on something trivial compared to what he dealt with brought a smile to the detective's tired lips.

He'd reply to the texts in the morning. After all, Jane wasn't the type to do something drastic.


	8. The Bittersweet Realisation

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 8**

Jane sat in the Strangers' Room, sipping the orange juice in her hand. She was still, almost unnaturally so, there was no tremor in her hand or involuntary shaking in her leg. She felt calm and silently berated herself for her hysterical manner last night.

She could hear Mycroft pacing behind her. Her chair was positioned away from the door and right in front of Mycroft's desk, which he had occupied a couple of minutes previously.

That was until anxiety got the better of him and he began to ring his brother. Jane said nothing whilst Mycroft had rung Sherlock over and over again, each time resorting to swearing at him in an array of different languages.

At one point Jane even thought she heard Mycroft speaking Welsh.

Eventually she heard his sigh and heard the rustle of his jacket as he slipped his phone in his pocket. He sat down opposite Jane looking as tired as she felt.

"I'm afraid I simply cannot get hold of him."

"Did you honestly expect him to answer?" She said quietly, she tipped the rest of her drink down her throat. "What time is my…appointment?" She spoke with indifference, which actually made Mycroft feel oddly uneasy.

"Nine o'clock. Your consultant is Doctor Julia Harris. She may wish to talk you through the process although you may already know the effects of what will happen, I would advice you if you simply…sit through it."

"What name have you given them?"

"I…persuaded…them that a name wasn't necessary."

By 'persuaded', Jane knew he meant he'd paid them more than enough to allow it to swept under the carpet.

"Where is it? The clinic?"

The side of Mycroft's mouth twitched into a smile. "London."

"I'm not on a 'need to know basis' am I?"

"Precisely. I suggest you leave now to miss the worst of the traffic. I can't control everything that goes on in London."

Mycroft rose, he walked to the door and took Jane's jacket off the coat tree and stood by the door. Jane rose slowly, taking her time to place the glass on Mycroft's desk. She took deliberate steps towards the door and allowed Mycroft to help her with her jacket.

As he slipped the jacket over her shoulders, she whispered, almost inaudibly;

"Come with me?"

She expected Mycroft to immediately turn her down, stating that he had other business to attend to but he didn't. Instead, he spoke softly,

"Very well. There's a car waiting outside, I shall be out shortly. I just have to inform Sosa of my absence."

"Right, yes." Jane looked as if she was about to say something else but instead she turned on her heel, walked out of the Stranger's Room and outside to where the car was indeed parked. She slid in the back seat, leaving the door open for Mycroft to join her.

Sosa entered Mycroft's office just as he pulled a black cashmere coat on.

"Yes sir?"

"I will probably be absent for the next two or three hours Sosa, delay all my meetings."

"Very good, sir."

"I trust Isis is at the clinic?"

"Yes, sir. She left an hour ago. Did-," Sosa shifted uncomfortably. "Forgive the intrusion, sir, but, have you managed to contact Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft shot Sosa a 'what do you think?' look.

"Ah. Do you wish for me to continue to contact him?"

Mycroft shook his head. "It would be a waste of energy."

"Yes sir."

Sosa left the room, already speaking to the Minister of Transport's secretary. Mycroft pulled his umbrella out of the stand and hook it on his arm. He toyed with the collar of his jacket for a few seconds, whilst his mind decided on one final attempt at contacting his brother.

One last try wouldn't hurt.

He pulled out his phone and sent one last text.

_**St. Benedict's Clinic**_

_**239 Bute Square**_

_**9 o'clock. **_

_**I can delay the consultant for twenty minutes, maximum.**_

_**MH**_

He slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. Now he had to deal with little brother's mistakes, again.

* * *

Someone was speaking, a woman was speaking, shouting, clapping and the sound was agonisingly magnified in his head. He tilted his head slightly, only an inch, but the sunlight caught him directly in the eyes.

He gasped through gritted teeth. And noticed the television was still on. Did he switch it on when came in? Or was it still on when he came in? The woman speaking was Connie Prince. Wasn't she dead?

His head pounded furiously, he had to take something to stop it, Paracetamol, Ibuprofen, Cocodomol, bloody hell, even cocaine would do.

He tried to push himself upwards but because of the fact that he'd all but passed out in the night, his left arm was dead. His face slammed back into the cushion ungracefully and he growled.

He decided to try a different approach to getting up, he rolled over. And, fell flat onto the floor having misjudged the distance.

"Oh for fu-" He murmured into the carpet.

It took exactly three minutes and two seconds for the feeling to return to his arm. He pushed himself up slowly. He stood in the same spot, swaying for a moment. He stumbled into the kitchen and started to rummage through the cupboards, looking for painkillers.

He pulled out Pot Noodles, beans, onions, spices and crisps trying to look for sodding painkillers. He had his head shoved halfway in the cupboard when someone slapped him hard on the shoulders.

He yelped and jolted his head up, hitting it painfully into the top of the cupboard. He clutched his head and he turned to face his attacker.

"Sherlock, you horrible young man! Where have you been all night?" Mrs. Hudson looked close to tears.

"I…went out." Sherlock rubbed his head. "Do you know where the painkillers are?"

Mrs. Hudson ignored Sherlock's question. "Jane was in such a state when you left! How could you do that to her? Why weren't you answering your phone last night? I was ringing and ringing you all night!"

Something in Sherlock's mind cleared. He shoved his hand in his pocket, pulling out his phone. He stood up, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's rant and headed straight for the second draw down. He pulled out the spare battery and shoved it in his phone.

Beside him, Mrs. Hudson ranted about how it was his fault that Jane was in such a state and that her hip hadn't given her this much jip in months. Sherlock didn't register her speech nor did he care because his phone had come back to life and he was reading through the messages send by his brother.

His heart plummeted to the bottom of his chest.

_**Sherlock Holmes your child is going to die tomorrow if you don't do anything to stop it.**_

_**MH**_

_**St. Benedict's Clinic**_

_**239 Bute Square**_

_**9 o'clock. **_

_**I can delay the consultant for twenty minutes, maximum.**_

_**MH**_

It was already five to nine.

"Sherlock? Sherlock? What does it say? Was Mycroft texting you? Well, I'd be surprised if he wasn't. Is Jane alright? Sherlock?"

Sherlock ran.


	9. St Benedict's Clinic

**Chapter 9**

Jane realised it must have looked a strange sight; a woman in her mid thirties (late thirties) in dark jeans, a black t-shirt, shining Docs and a tatty olive green service jacket twenty plus years old walking next to a man who was pretty much elegance personified. Said man was now wearing a navy pinstriped suit and black cashmere overcoat which probably cost more than she'd earn in a six months.

All her clothes had been washed, ironed and were hung neatly in the wardrobe when she woke up which meant at least she didn't look as tatty as she did when she arrived at the Diogenes.

She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she walked, trying to avoid the curious glances of those around her. Mycroft, however, walked with an unconcerned air, absently twirling the umbrella hooked on his arm.

Everything was so…clean and expensive. The waiting room was about the same size as a ward with individual booths with a television in each. Not exactly your bog standard NHS abortion clinic, then.

Jane stopped in the waiting room momentarily but Mycroft continued on walking so she followed his lead. They walked close enough together for it to be companionable but there was still a gap between them.

A young female nurse walked past them, not even batting an eyelid. Jane stared for a lot longer than she normally would've done because the young woman looked more like a supermodel than a nurse.

She wore a lime green uniform with a white beret, the dress came down to her knees but it hugged the young woman's shape perfectly, which was…curvaceous to say the least. Her make-up was minimal but it was there and not to mention the three inch heels she wore which made her well over six foot.

Talk about a real confidence booster, not that having top model nurses was going to deflate any woman's self confidence in the slightest.

Jane lowered her head even more, trying to ignore the curious stares radiating from other patients. Mycroft didn't seem to notice or care but edged just that inch close to Jane to show he was fully aware of the situation around her.

They reached the end of the corridor and were greeted by 'Isis' waiting outside room 19.

"Hullo Anthea. Is it still Anthea or is it something different this week?"

"It's Isis, this week, Doctor Watson," Isis smiled briefly. "Your consulting room is just through here. Just to be clear, you don't have to give your consultant any personal details, she's been told a…version…already. Oh, and your name on the register is Smith. Your consultant will be along shortly."

"What is this version of my story?" Jane asked, genuinely interested at what Isis had come up with.

Isis smiled briefly. "There's no need to worry, she's been informed not to ask any questions unless strictly necessary."

"Ah, I see. Right…well, thank you. Uh…" She turned to Mycroft. "Are you coming in?"

Mycroft looked at her with mild surprise, he frowned. "Surely it's not my place…unless you want me to."

Jane was silently for a lengthy amount of time. "Come in when the consultant asks you to."

"Very well." Mycroft nodded briefly and Jane opened the door to the consulting room.

The room was large, it was about the same size as the living room and bathroom in Baker Street put together. The walls were covered by a bold blue floral wallpaper.

In the middle of the room was an oak desk the size of a single bed with two black Chesterfield armchairs either side of the desk.

In the farthest end of the room was a window that spanned the size of a wall that showed London in all its shining Monday morning nine o'clock glory.

Jane sank back into the armchair and tried not to think of what she was about to do and where she was. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inwardly calling Sherlock Holmes every name under the sun.

But she still wanted him there, more than anything she wanted him beside her. Why the bloody hell did she have to go and fall in love with a sociopathic genius with the morals and decorum of a six-year-old of all men?

* * *

Mycroft waited patiently outside the room alone, he'd sent Anthea back to his office to assist Sosa with tackling issues with regards to the Minister of Education, particularly to do with a certain story that – well, there was no need to think about that now. He tapped his umbrella absently on the laminate flooring.

He knew it was none of his business, he knew it was Jane's choice and Jane's alone but this was one mistake he simply couldn't allow his idiot of a brother and the emotional wreck of a doctor to make.

Mycroft was not a religious man but he prayed to anything and everything that wherever Mummy was that she would give him some sense for once in his life.

* * *

She couldn't stay still, she was simply too nervous. She had to move or she knew for a fact she was going to explode.

She got up slowly and walked towards the window, the view was magnificent to say the least. Below her people turned into ants and were scurrying about in their thousands. It was quite tranquil being this far up into the heavens and looking down onto the world below.

She curled her arms around her stomach protectively, her heart wrenched in her chest and tears began to spill down her cheeks when she thought that there were two hearts beating inside her now, two bodies, two minds and that both were going to die, one figuratively and the other literally.

* * *

Mycroft knew the consultant as soon as she rounded the corner. The woman was short and stout but she had a pleasing face, one that didn't abuse the eyes. She walked straight but her hands where stuffed into the pocket of her white lab coat.

Mycroft extended her hand to her. "Doctor Harris, pleasure to meet you."

Doctor Harris' sharp green eyes scanned Mycroft quickly, she smiled. It was blatantly fake to Mycroft but would indeed be tricky to read for anyone simpler.

"Good morning, Mr…?"

"Harrington, Michael Harrington."

"Mr. Harrington…are you a relative of Miss Smith's?"

"I am a…close friend." Mycroft's pause was almost undetectable but Doctor Harris caught it.

"Ah. I see. So close that you have accompanied her to an abortion clinic, you must have no doubt known each other for a long time?"

Mycroft smiled, he liked Doctor Harris. She was a clever woman. She was subtly or rather not so subtly in his eyes, probing him for information whilst encouraging him to talk with her friendly manner. How interesting. Still, she wasn't exactly going to win but there was no harm playing along for a bit. After all, he had given his brother twenty minutes.

"Long enough. We met through my brother."

"Oh I see. Yes, a lot of the woman we see met their friends through mutual acquaintances." Doctor Harris smiled innocently but there was no denying the venom behind her sentence.

Now Mycroft was impressed. She'd managed to insult him by one little sentence that could be interpreted either way. Mycroft thought he may as well give her what she wanted, as a 'well done' present.

"I am not the father of her child."

"I never said you were Mr. Harrington."

"Hm…you didn't did you?"

"No, now if you will please excuse me Mr. Harrington, I have a patient to see."

Doctor Harris moved towards the door but Mycroft blocked her way. Doctor Harris looked up and straight into Mycroft's eyes.

"Excuse me, Mr. Harrington but I believe you are in my way."

"Indeed I am." Mycroft flashed her one of his less intimidating smiles.

"Then I suggest you move out of my way or I shall be forced to call security and have you forcefully removed from the premises." There was true loathing in the good Doctor's voice, so much so that Mycroft laughed.

"Doctor Harris, whilst you and I have been conversing, you've failed to notice that all the security guards seem to have taken a morning break. Now, I strongly suggest you return to the staff lounge and take a cup of tea, strong with milk and no sugar."

"How dare –" Doctor Harris' voice rose, her face turning a dark shade of pink.

"Ah, ah, ah. Calm yourself Doctor, we wouldn't want you having a heart attack now would we?" Mycroft smiled but this time there was a dangerous air about it.

* * *

Jane could've sworn she heard Mycroft talking to someone but she was in too much of a state to turn around and check. She didn't want Mycroft, of all people, to see her acting like a blubbering wreck. She did have some pride left.

She wanted more than anything to just get it over with so she could crawl home and hide in her bedroom and never, ever, come out again.

She wiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. She had to be strong. She was strong. She was a soldier. She was a Doctor. She was…broken and no amount of bandages or hugs could fix her.

She was tempted to run. Run from this place, those people. Run from everyone and catch a train and never come back. Keep the child safe that way. Change her name, her hair, her eyes and everything else that could be changed on her body.

Why was she doing this? Why –

'_Moran.' _The voice answered. _'Moriarty may be dead but Moran will never stop until you put a bullet through his skull. He'll hunt you down, hurt you, torture you and when there's nothing left of you or them, that's when he'll kill you. He'll take the child; he'll hurt your baby. And he won't stop. He'll never ever stop. He'll tear down the world to get to you.'_

The tears continued to roll down her face as she faced the truth. She wouldn't do it…if there were any other way she'd take it. Dear God, she'd leap on it in a heartbeat but there wasn't there simply wasn't.

She could hear the handle twist and the pins in the lock contract, she heard the door push open inch by inch.

She couldn't turn around, she just couldn't. She couldn't accept this was happening, she couldn't believe what she was about to do. She closed her eyes, wishing the whole situation away, begging for it to not be true.

Someone stepped in and closed the door behind them gently.

She had to look, she had to turn around and face her consultant. She could do this. She was strong. She was strong. She was strong. She opened her eyes and breathed a shaky sigh. She turned around.

Then, with true disbelief in her voice, she whispered;

"Sherlock?"


	10. Could You Love?

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 10**

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock stood there unmoving, looking as rough as Jane felt. His hair was a tangled greasy mess on top of his head, his pale skin looked oily and a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. His eyes looked glassy (surely they weren't tears?) and he was panting heavily. His clothes were so dishevelled it was unbelievable as normally the Consulting Detective wouldn't be caught dead looking so untidy.

Sherlock took a few unsteady steps forward and Jane instinctively moved back. Hurt flashed across his eyes momentarily. He ran an unsteady hand through his hair.

"I apologise for my lateness. I didn't – it was more crowded than I thought."

"Why didn't you take a short cut?" Jane kept her voice steady but it was a challenge.

"I…I found it difficult to…I was rather distracted."

Jane narrowed her eyes. "You got drunk." She could see it now, the bloodshot eyes, the unsteady movements, the stench.

Sherlock visibly flinched. "I may have gotten a little intoxicated last night…"

"I told you I was pregnant so you went out and got pissed." Her voice rose along with her anger.

She couldn't look at him, she felt physically sick. She turned her head away in disgust, bile rising in her throat.

Sherlock moved towards her and as his fingers brushed gently against her forearm Jane's hand connected with his cheek with a resounding smack.

"Don't touch me." She hissed. "Get away from me you bastard."

Sherlock moved away instantly, looking shocked and wounded. It made Jane want to punch him even more. How dare he look like he's the one who has betrayed, the one who's in distress.

"Jane…please listen to me –"

"No! Get out! Get away from me!"

Sherlock didn't move a muscle. "I'm not going, Jane. I'm not going to walk out on you again."

"You won't? Fine, that's fine. Well then I will." Jane brushed past Sherlock and went straight to the door. She pushed forcefully down on the handle but it didn't budge. She rattled it a few times before slamming her hand against the door in frustration.

"Mycroft! Open this door right now! Mycroft!"

"The door is not going to open, Jane. You and I both know that." Sherlock stated calmly.

"There's got to be a key somewhere." Jane muttered mainly to herself, deciding to now completely ignore the other occupant in the room. She moved over to the desk in the centre of the room.

Sherlock watched every move she made like a hawk. He watched the tension in her shoulders and the tremor in her hand had returned. He watched Jane rattled the handles on the draws before placing her hands on the desk, lowering her head and sighing when it became obvious that the draws were not going to open without a key.

With her head still inches away from her chest, she said;

"He wants us to talk. Alright, fine, I'll humour him and we'll talk." Jane's head rose slowly and she angled it towards the detective and stared.

Sherlock licked his lips nervously, an action Jane had never seen Sherlock do before.

"Will you allow me to explain?"

"Oh believe me, I'm all ears."

"I didn't know…I needed advice –"

"So you went to a pub and got pissed. Oh yes, I can see how you'd get tonnes of advice there."

"I asked Lestrade to accompany me to Angelo's in order for me to ask him what it…feels like…to become a…" Sherlock swallowed hard. "_A father_. During our discussion he readily informed me that I was an idiot and that it was a miracle that I wasn't dead."

"Oh trust me I contemplated it." Jane said humourlessly.

Sherlock closed his eyes, pain flashed across his face. "I don't understand – I don't know what to do. What can I do to make this right?"

Jane drew herself up slowly, her eyes never leaving Sherlock's face. "You could start by saying sorry."

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked straight at Jane with that adorable lost expression that made him look twelve years old. God she loved it and hated it.

Sherlock walked towards Jane, taking much more deliberate steps than last time. He stopped in front of her and slowly, making very clear what he was about to do, wrapped his hand around Jane's.

Jane could feel damp on her cheeks and she bloody hated herself for it. She couldn't look at him so she settled for staring at the third button down on his grey shirt. She could see out of the corner of her eye Sherlock's other hand run gently along Jane's law.

He tilted her head up and lowered his lips inches away from hers, he then whispered;

"I am so sorry. Please…_please _don't go through with this. Please don't abort our child."

Every time she looked into those blue orbs she felt something inside her melt, but especially when she saw how moist they had become. She'd seen him cry once before…on top of a roof and she swore never again.

They didn't kiss. Their lips were so close but neither moved, they were both absorbed in silence until Jane spoke.

"And what happens if I don't go through with it, hm? The things we need to change…it doesn't bare thinking about. The flat is hardly suitable for us let alone a little one. Jesus, little ones hurt themselves on table corners, I don't even want to think about it if little fingers got hold of one of your experiments. And what about your work? Your work is way too dangerous, you're back at all hours of the day. It's hardly a suitable environment to raise a child. And what about you?"

Sherlock's gaze had dropped to the floor as Jane spoke but his eyes lifted and his eye brows furrowed. "What about me?"

"Could you love it? Whether it's a boy or a girl."

"I – of course I could –"

"I mean love, Sherlock, unconditional, irrational, indescribable love for this child not just accepting that it exists. Show it love, stop it crying, hug it and help it sleep at night. Love it whether it turns out to be a genius or not. Love your child for the fact that it's your child. Could you do that?"

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted truthfully. "But at least give me the chance to try."


	11. The Peace Treaty

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 11**

Jane didn't move. She didn't dare breathe. She couldn't just risk it all…could she? There was just so many problems…this was a human life they were dealing with, an actual human life.

But he did take a chance once, a long time ago. And they had all suffered the consequences for it.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Sherlock pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it with an unusual gentleness.

"You have to trust me." He said as his lips brushed against her knuckles.

"Of course I trust you."

"Then why are you still unsure?" He lifted his head and looked her in the eyes.

"There's just –"

"-So much to think about. To change, yes. I know. But we can do this. You and I. You won't go through this alone, you realise this, you don't –"

Jane cupped her hands around his face and kissed him forcefully on the lips to shut him up. It did the trick. Between breathes, Sherlock spoke.

"Come back…to…Baker…Baker Street…with…me?" He grabbed onto Jane's shoulders and pulled her back, panting slightly. He looked adorably flustered. Those blue eyes were also almost completely black. "You should know that saying no isn't an option."

Jane chuckled gently and kissed his cheek lightly. "If you think you're ever going near my…womanhood…again you've got another thing coming, my love."

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically. "I meant in a general sense but," He grinned devilishly. "If you were willing to-"

"Not a chance in hell. I told you, I'm turning celibate."

Sherlock snorted. "Yes, and I believe that as much as I believe eating carrots makes you see in the dark and that a God exists."

Jane grinned. "Your mother actually tried that, didn't she? I bet it worked. I can just see you stuffing your face with carrots –"

"It didn't work actually. And for the record I stayed well away from bread crusts." He huffed indignantly.

"Well it worked." Jane said sarcastically as she ran her fingers through his curls. "You know what the first thing that is going to happen when we get back?" She smiled playfully.

"What?" Sherlock said a little too eagerly.

Jane rose on her tip toes and whispered in Sherlock's ear; "You're having a shower."

Jane winked as Sherlock glowered childishly at her. After a few seconds his frown disappeared to a much more reserved expression.

"You are coming back with me?"

Jane swallowed hard. "Yeah…yeah, I think I am."

A small grin started to spread across Sherlock's face but it was his eyes that made Jane feel a swell in her heart. For the first time in a long while, they twinkled with joy.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Shall we?" Sherlock motioned towards the door but Jane grabbed his arm. "Uh, hold on a second. What are we going to tell Mycroft?"

"I very much doubt he's still here." Sherlock reassured her, prying his arm gently away from her iron grip.

"Then how to we get home? I don't have any money for a taxi, do you?"

Sherlock answered Jane by taking all of six seconds to reply. "Let's hope that Mycroft left the car outside."

* * *

Jane relaxed back in her chair, finally comfortable with her surroundings and herself. She could hear the shower running upstairs and contemplated joining her detective but the steaming cup of tea in her hands and David Tennant grinning at her from behind his 'brainy specs' was just too good to resist.

A sudden chill came over her and she pulled her knees up to her chest and threw a blanket over her. She pulled the tea cup to her lips and drank it slowly.

Sometime between David Tennant losing his shoe and proving to Martha that time travel was real, she vaguely registered the shower switching off and the sound of feet padding down the stairs. And then they entered the room.

The detective flopped into the chair opposite her, wearing only a towel around his waist and staring at her intently. Jane ignored him.

'_No.' _She thought. _'No, I won't let him win this one.'_

She kept her attention fixed on David Tennant, the devilish, handsome, charming – her eyes briefly glanced at the man opposite her just as a bead of water trickled down his neck and down his chest.

'_Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God.'_

She knew he saw. He knew she knew he saw. She could feel his smile. Smugness radiated from him. Moments later there came a low rumble of laughter from the chair and a smile spread across Jane's face.

Jane tore her gaze away from the television and glared at him, a smile still on her face.

"Stop it. You bad, bad man. I'm supposed to be angry at you!"

He shrugged. "I'll apologise properly later." Sherlock stretched slowly, proudly showing his ribs sticking out from his chest. And suddenly; "Why Mycroft?"

"Pardon?" Jane asked, confused by the abruptness of his question.

"Why did you go to Mycroft? You could've gone to your own brother so why pick mine?"

"Because," She sighed, internally wondering to herself why had she actually gone to Mycroft? "Because…I knew he could help me. You go to him when you need help."

"Reluctantly." Sherlock said.

"Oh and you think I was eager do you?" She snapped, rage burning inside of her again.

Sherlock considered what she said for a moment. Jane turned her head back to the television, trying to quell the anger inside her. She saw from the corner of her eyes that Sherlock stood up. He crossed the room gracefully and kissed the side of her head. In her ear he whispered;

"No, I don't think you were eager. I think you were scared and I did nothing to stop that. I apologised unreservedly for the upset I've caused you."

Jane turned her head towards him. She kissed him softly on the lips, it was chaste but it meant more than a thousandspoken words. It was their peace treaty.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_**I just wanted to say thank you for all your support and nice comments. :) And that this isn't the final chapter. I've got some more ideas in my weird yet wonderful little mind ;) Thank you xxx**_


	12. Meeting the Midwife

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 12**

_**4 weeks later:**_

The front door slammed shut for the eleventh – no twelfth time that morning. Most of the midwives Sherlock had scared off had seemed extremely insulted and promised to carry out an array of threats ranging from calling the police to incanting voodoo spells.

But the one who had just left had been the first time to cry. But she didn't _just _cry, oh no, she had a whole fucking mental breakdown.

As it so happened, that particular young woman had lost her own baby a few months back and Jane was the first patient she had seen since her tragic loss. And, to add insult to injury, Sherlock had asked whether the death of her child was her fault.

That was when she first started to cry but what it transgress into a full blown breakdown was when Sherlock, oh so innocently asked;

"So, are you intending on any more children or did your attacker damage your body too badly?"

Jane literally wanted to die. But then she realised that she didn't want to die. Oh no, she wanted _him_ to die. Slowly. And painfully by spoon. And have it made to look like an accident. Yes, that was what she wanted.

She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on her breathing. She couldn't get angry. That would only increase her blood pressure which wouldn't do either of them any good. By them, she thought of the baby. Not Sherlock.

She rested her hand on her slightly protruding stomach when she heard footsteps pound up the stairs. She was only two months along and was just starting to show. Really, there was no need for a midwife for another month but Jane wanted to get it done.

When she heard the springs of the chair opposite her squeak she knew he was back in the room. She was determined she wasn't going to lose her patience over this. When she opened her eyes, Sherlock slid further down in his chair.

"I know that was very not good and I apologised profoundly and I'm sorry…?" He grimaced slightly at the end.

Jane knew she'd already forgiven him but there was no real harm in toying with him for a while. After all, she was bored…

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Both-either. Which one would you prefer at this particular moment in time?"

Jane fixed him with a hard glare. The kind of glare she'd developed during her time in the army. And, according to the way Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat, she had mastered it as well.

"I want a bath. Put the lavender bath cream in there and I expect a cup of tea and you to give me a massage afterwards, understand?"

Sherlock nodded wordlessly.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Go on!" She thrust her hand in the general direction of the door.

When the World's Only Consulting Detective practically leapt out of his chair and bounded towards the bathroom upstairs, Jane couldn't help but stifle a laugh. She'd go easier on him once he'd run the bath.

He _was _trying, after all.

He'd been a lot more subdued since the 'Incident' and had paid a lot more attention to her needs, physically and emotionally. For instance, he'd stopped conducting experiments all together, when Lestrade offered him a case he would generally turn it down if he couldn't solve it within the first five minutes of being informed.

At first, Jane thought she'd quite enjoyed the new Sherlock. But there was something quite unnerving at Sherlock not being Sherlock. It felt wrong. Jane knew she had to do something to fix it.

She was about to get up and head to the bathroom herself when a cup of Camomile tea was shoved under her face. Jane looked sideways to see Mrs. Hudson smiling sympathetically at her.

Jane took the cup and thanked her. Mrs. Hudson moved stiffly to Sherlock's chair and gently lowered herself down.

"Is your hip still hurting you?" Jane asked, more than a little concern at how Mrs. Hudson's hip had been acting up a little more often lately.

Mrs. Hudson waved her hand in the air to dismiss it. "Oh it's just a little twinge because I sat for so long. It'll be alright once I move."

"Mrs. Hudson I really to think you should see a doctor about your hip."

"Oh Jane! I'm telling you there is no need! You should not be worrying about me in your state."

"Promise me that you'll see a doctor this week, if you don't I swear I'll pester you until you do."

Mrs. Hudson smiled, "Alright, alright, I promise. Now, tell me what happened. I saw the young woman that just went out sobbing on Sherlock's shoulder. I suppose it was a client was it?"

"Uh…no actually." John placed the cup of tea on the armrest of the chair. "We were looking for a midwife. I tried to convince him that a NHS midwife would do and that generally you don't interview midwives, but no. He insists that we go private _and _that we interview them. But I know he only wants what's best for this little one. Even if he'll never say it." She rubbed her stomach thoughtfully.

Mrs. Hudson smiled sadly. "I know. Well, it sounds like you're going private whether you like it or not. Mind you, I can talk, I'm with Bupa. How many midwives did you interview?"

"T…twelve. Yeah, twelve."

"And you thought none of them were suitable?" Mrs. Hudson asked in disbelief.

"Apparently not, according to him."

Mrs. Hudson laughed cheerfully. "Well, that's unfortunately probably down to me. On one of his cases, oh it was nasty one…it was to do with a midwife killing off newborns, anyway, he asked me about some of the techniques used and I apparently supplied him with the information he needed."

"Hold on, you were a midwife?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. I retired a good few years back, mind you."

"Really? Well –" Before Jane could continue the doorbell rang.

"Oh I'll get it, you stay here, Jane." Mrs. Hudson shot up out of the chair and down the stairs with surprising agility, defying all previous mention of a dodgy hip. Moments later the door was opened and Mrs. Hudson's voice travelled up the stairs;

"Sherlock! It's for you!"

Jane heard Sherlock stomp hurriedly down the stairs and greet the visitor at the door. Jane heard muffled voices and two sets of feet climbed back up the stairs. Jane stood up to greet whoever was entering.

It was two men. One was Sherlock. The other was the midwife. But that was not what surprised Jane. No, what sent shivers up Jane's spine was the fact that the young man extended his hand to her and said;

"Hello, nice to meet you. I'm Neil Moran. Please call me Neil." In an Irish accent.

Jane froze. Every muscle in her body tensed.

_Moran._

_Irish._

_Moran._

_Irish._

_Moran._

_Irish._

_Moran_

_Irish._

When some control was restored to her tongue, Jane smiled kindly. "Hello, Jane Watson. Um…I'm terribly sorry, Neil but the position has already been filled. I am sorry that you took all the time and effort to hear that but don't worry, we'll pay for your taxi home."

She gave him her best 'lovely young woman' smile and showed him out the door. Signalling behind Neil's back to Sherlock to get him out. Sherlock, thankfully, complied without question.

When he came back upstairs there was a look of confusion on his face.

"Who 'filled the position'? Who did you choose?"

"Mrs. Hudson. Now, is my bath ready?"

* * *

**Author's Note: _Hello *waves* I just wanted to say that the next couple of chapters are going to be a bit drabble-ish mainly because I want to show how the developing pregnancy affects all of them...but mainly Sherlock. But after the baby is born (yes, I've chosen a name or potential names because it could either be a boy or a girl (; ) but after that it will be back to chapters that lead into each other. So yes, please stick through it and enjoy! xxx _**


	13. Morning Sickness Part I

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 13**

_**Week 7 (1 month and 3 weeks):**_

Sunlight gently streamed through the curtain and straight into her eyes. Jane winced and rolled over, fully intending to bury her face into Sherlock's chest but was greeted by air and her face plummeted straight into the bed sheets.

Jane frowned into the sheets; normally Sherlock would lie in bed next to her until she woke up. She contemplated getting up to look for him but she decided that she genuinely couldn't be arsed getting up.

Then the toilet flushed.

The door opened and Sherlock silently stepped back into the room. He stopped when he saw Jane sprawled out diagonally face down on the bed. He chuckled quietly to himself and gently slotted himself next to her.

Jane shifted when she felt the dip in the mattress to accommodate room for Sherlock. As soon as he lay down, Jane threw her arm over his hip and rested her head on his chest, contently listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat. Sherlock allowed his cheek to rest of the top of her golden blonde hair.

"Oh, yeah. We're invited to Henry Knight's wedding, by the way." Jane murmured into Sherlock's chest.

"How exciting…" Said Sherlock, with a yawn. "When did he invite us?"

"Last night. He sent me an email but I forgot to tell you. Sorry."

"Oh, right…who's he marrying?"

"Louise Mortimer. Who else? Mind you, it is a bit dodgy marrying a patient especially one with Henry's needs but I suppose love is love."

Sherlock snorted. "Please, she is a blatant lesbian. You only had to look at the way you two _chatted _in that pub."

"Nope. Wrong. Bisexual apparently. Still, I bet Henry's not complaining."

"Hm. I bet he's not. He did have all the telltale signs that he had a _penchant _for a _ménage-a-trois_."

"_Really?_ For a start how could you possibly –no. No, I'm not getting into that."

"When is the wedding?" Sherlock ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp.

Jane leant into his touch and almost purred in happiness. "Uh…March…fourteenth I think."

"Oh what a shame…I have a case that day."

Jane hummed in agreement. "But I can't say that now can I? I'll just say something like our presence there could trigger some unwanted memories, so it would be best if we didn't go."

"You're only worried that she'll try and finger you in the reception."

"Shut up." Jane said as she slapped him on the stomach. Sherlock doubled over but he grinned like a mischievous child as he did so.

As Jane stretched languidly, Sherlock went to put his arm around her but pulled back abruptly when he brushed Jane's stomach. Apprehension crossed his face and he leapt out of the bed.

"Uh…I'll make breakfast."

Jane sat up and stared in confusion at the man that had practically run out of the door.

Surely he wasn't afraid of her stomach?

Jane slipped her hand underneath her t-shirt and rubbed her stomach gently. "I don't know what daddy's playing at sweetie…" She sighed.

She clambered out of bed wrapped Sherlock's second best dressing gown around her before heading downstairs. She opened the side door that led directly into the kitchen and leant against the doorway.

Sherlock rushed about, clambering to put away his chemistry equipment and washed down the table top surfaces. Jane stood there was an amused expression as Sherlock pulled two frying pans from one of the cupboards.

"Is bacon and eggs alright for you?" Sherlock asked, glancing in her direction over his shoulder.

"That sounds lovely."

Sherlock hurried to put the frying pans on the stove and put oil in one of them. He pulled eggs and bacon from the fridge and it was then Jane decided to make her move. She grabbed Sherlock's arm and ducked underneath it, manoeuvring herself so that she was in front of him. Sherlock remained still, so Jane took that as her cue to continue. She took his other hand off the frying pan and placed them both on her stomach.

She looked up at him and brushed her hand against his cheek. "There's nothing to be afraid of you know. It's natural for you to feel apprehensive about touching me but trust me, I won't break."

Sherlock didn't respond verbally, instead he kissed the side of her head gently. Jane picked up the bacon and placed a couple of slices into the frying pan. Slowly and if not a little cautiously, she could feel Sherlock move his hands in a circular motion. She smiled to herself.

"Well, since I'm here, I'll make the bacon and egg. You make tea." Jane nudged him gently towards the kettle.

Reluctantly Sherlock removed his hands from Jane's stomach and moved towards the kettle. He pulled out two mugs, one was Jane's military mug and the other one was one of Mrs. Hudson's old china teacups that had 'mysteriously' gone missing whilst he was conducting a past experiment. He tipped a tea spoon of coffee granules into the china cup and placed a tea bag in Jane's military mug.

He put two sugars in his just as the kettle boiled. He poured the boiling water in his coffee granules first, taking time to stir it until it was at just the right consistency. Then, just as he was about to pour the hot water into Jane's mug the frying pan crashed to the floor. Then Sherlock looked at Jane. The seconds they stared at each other seemed like minutes until Jane covered her hand with her mouth and sprinted out of the door.

Sherlock was just about to follow when a hand closed around his arm and Mrs. Hudson appeared out of nowhere. She shook her head. "Morning sickness, dear. It's not pleasant."

* * *

**Author's Note:** In the last chapter I worked out that Jane was about 6 weeks pregnant or so and in the rest of the chapters I'll note down the weeks of her pregnancy. The next chapters will be following the progress of her pregnancy. Ta xxx


	14. The Names

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 14**

_**Week 8 (2 months)**_

25.

25 years.

25-fucking-years.

She could recite it a million times but she still couldn't comprehend the numbers. Where had all those years gone? It felt as if they had passed within the blink of an eye, she could picture it as if it were yesterday. Yes, they were both clichés but undeniably true.

She remembered the CNO gentleman coming to the house, she remembered the immaculately pressed uniform he wore, the pain in his eyes behind the supposed mask of indifference and the unmistakable sadness in his voice when he told them her father was gone.

She remembered the way her mother had wailed and collapsed onto the carpet and that the CNO officer and her aunt had to carry her mother into the living room.

She remembered the way Harry had run out of the house with tears in his eyes and the way she had stood there, paralysed with fear. Easily forgotten by the adults around her because of her silence.

Time been suspended and motion ceased to function around her. She was lost, pulled so deeply into her mind that the only thing she could concentrate on was the blaze in her chest that was building into a furnace with every second that passed.

And in particular, she remembered the way her world had been shattered in seconds with just a few simple words but they were simple words with an agonising impact.

She woke up that morning, the morning of the 25th anniversary of her father's death, with an uneasy calmness setting over her and a heavy heart settling in her chest. For once, since the morning sickness had begun, she wasn't ill. Perhaps the baby was sympathetic to her for a change.

Sherlock wasn't there when she woke up, and in all honesty, it didn't really bother her. She didn't feel like eating just yet, she decided that breakfast could wait until after the visiting was over.

Jane had initially intended to wear a black suit that was older than she cared to admit but a closer examination of her size and in particular her stomach meant that the suit wasn't an option.

She rummaged around her wardrobe and pulled out a black dress with a respectable length. She pulled out a pair of black tights and settled for pumps due to the fact that her feet had already begun to swell.

She had just finished putting on her favourite pearl earrings and fumbled with the annoyingly small clip on the necklace when hands gently slipped around her, taking the clip from her fingers.

Jane patiently waited for him to finish, his finger tips grazed against her skin gently and she found herself unconsciously leaning into his touch. His touch always calmed her. She closed her eyes but only for a brief moment.

She wished she didn't have to go through with it and all the memories that went with it. A cruel and constant reminder of a man she would never see again.

Sherlock caressed her neck, a surprising gentleness which brought her back into the world. Jane swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry and spoke.

"Come with me?"

"Of course." He said no more but when Jane turned to face him she saw he was already wearing a black suit (hardly unusual) but the major difference was the crisp white shirt underneath and the silk paisley patterned tie around his neck.

Of course he would've known before she'd even have asked. Even if she'd have said no he still probably would've followed her.

"Flowers?" Sherlock asked.

Jane shook her head. "No. He had hay fever." Her mouth twisted into a grim smile. "Bit of an irony don't you think?"

Sherlock took her best black coat (a gift from {believe it or not} Mycroft one Christmas) from behind the bedroom door and helped her to put it on.

"How are you feeling today?" He asked as they headed down the stairs. Jane stopped on the landing so Sherlock could grab his Belstaff coat from behind the living room door.

"Alright, actually. I don't feel sick."

"Back pain?" He asked, pulling the scarf around his neck.

"Slight twinge but nothing too bad. My ankles are starting to swell but it's to be expected."

"Okay…cab?"

"Preferably."

They both made their way down the stairs. Jane called a goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and the two stepped out onto the street. Sherlock hailed a taxi and Jane said the address of the cemetery.

They stayed in companionable silence throughout the entire journey. Their hands brushed against each other but didn't touch. The only part of their bodies that did touch was their shoulders.

Sherlock brushed his hand against her knee lightly once when he saw a melancholy had settled over her. He said nothing but remained close to her, a constant reminder that she wasn't alone.

He felt the muscles in Jane's shoulder tense when they pulled up to the gates at the cemetery. Jane stepped out, looking dazed. Sherlock gave her a curious glance before paying the taxi driver.

By the time he had stepped out and closed the door behind him, Jane was already walking halfway through the cemetery. Then, in the distance, he saw her abruptly stop. He watched, transfixed, as the silhouette of Jane knelt down to the grave. She needed time, time alone and then, when she was ready, he'd be by her side.

The white marble was so smooth against her finger tips. It was still as unblemished as the day it was made; an immortal memoriam to a mortal man. She traced the name engraved into the stone lightly.

**Maj. John Hamish Watson**

**4th Battalion Duke of Lancaster's Regiment**

**22 Nov. 1949 – 6 Jun. 1983**

"I still miss you." She whispered. "It's been so long and it still hurts…what-what should I say? Hm? What can I say? Well, I hate you for leaving me and I hate that we weren't there when you died but I love you. So much…and…I am so proud to call you my dad."

She could feel the lump in her throat as she talked, threatening to change her words into sobs. But, she was determined to carry on.

"Nine years wasn't enough but I wouldn't have missed it for the world. I wish you would've stayed longer…I wish we had more time. I always wanted to make you proud –"

Her voice finally broke and she let out a choked sob, she buried her head in her hands and let the tears fall. The pain in her chest felt as if it was threatening to tear her in half, so, she allowed herself to sob.

Once she allowed her tears to fall she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"Last time I was here was the day before I was deployed, 'member? Yeah, well…I got shot." Jane laughed slightly, her mood lightened. "Yeah, bit much to deal with I know but wait until you get your head around this. So, they sent me back here and shoved me in sessions with a shrink. Didn't like them and I didn't like her either."

She could picture her father rolling his eyes, which made her smile.

"Anyway, I ran into Mike Stamford. Have I told you about him? No? Well I went to Barts with him, yeah, so, Mike and I started to chat and he suggested I get a flat share and he introduced me to this man. His name's Sherlock Holmes. He…is…remarkable, Dad. Really, genuinely, brilliant…not as brilliant as you, _obviously_ but it comes close. And…he helped me, he really did, not that I'd ever tell him because trust me, that man does not need anything to boost his confidence any more. I swear he was born strutting out of his mother and deducing that the midwife was an alcoholic or some nonsense. Oh, yeah, I should explain that Sherlock Holmes is the World's Only Consulting Detective. This apparently means that when the police are out of the depths they consult him."

Jane looked in Sherlock's direction; a familiar warmth bubbling inside her chest when she saw him, waiting for her at the gates of the cemetery. She turned her head back to the grave.

"We saw things, Dad. He solved mysteries that the world couldn't comprehend and I blogged about them. It worked…for a time. Just him and I. Then he died. Not in your case but I thought he was never coming back. I saw…I saw him jump off a building and die but he didn't. Three years I lived without him and…when he came back I knew I couldn't live without him again. God help me, but I was in love."

She smiled to herself as she thought of the moment that she saw Sherlock standing in her consulting room. She grinned even more when she thought of the moment her fist connected with his face and then seconds later when their lips met. He was hesitant first but his arms slowly wrapped around Jane.

Then she had kneed him in the bollocks.

"Yeah," Jane nodded. "Yeah I kicked the shit out of him for that but funnily enough that didn't go in the blog. Anyway, we started to…you know…and we're together. He hasn't proposed. So, yes, final big news…brace yourself, Dad. I'm pregnant. Sherlock's the father and you are going to be a grandpa."

Jane smiled brightly and ran her fingers over the grave once again.

"I'll tell it all about you. I'll tell them how you would've loved it just as you loved me."

She leant forward and pressed her lips gently against the grave and whispered. "Miss you, Dad. Rest well and do me a favour, if you're going to look over someone look after the little one."

Jane stood up; she rose a little slower than she normally would have and felt a hand on her elbow. She looked up and Sherlock smiled sadly down at her. She turned back to the grave.

"Dad. Sherlock. Sherlock. Dad."

"We should name the child after him…if it's a boy."

Jane looked up at Sherlock in confusion. "Pardon?"

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, he'd normally insult her but even he was wary of insulting a pregnant woman in front of her father's grave.

"If our child is a boy, we should name it after your father."

Jane blinked. "Really?"

Sherlock nodded. "You're obviously proud of your father and were quite fond of him. I'm sure that if he were alive today he would prove to be an excellent role model for the child."

"Is that your way of saying you want to honour his memory?"

"Well…yes."

Jane looked down at the name on the gravestone. "John Watson-Holmes. Hm…no. It doesn't sound right…Jonathan. Jonathan Watson-Holmes. What do you think?"

"It sounds…good. Right for him if it's a boy."

"What about your father?"

"What about him?" It was Sherlock's turn to look confused.

"What was his name?" Jane pressed.

"Why do you need to know that?" Sherlock said a little too sharply but thankfully Jane either didn't notice or didn't care.

"He needs a middle name doesn't he? And before you say anything it's not going to be Hamish."

Sherlock looked down awkwardly at his feet. "I would rather we didn't bring my father into this. Your father was a good man. Mine…hm. I wasn't particularly fond of him."

Jane slipped her hand into his gloved one and smiled supportively. "Alright, I understand."

The two stared at the grave in silence…until a thought dawned on Jane. "Hold on. What if it's a girl?"

Sherlock remained still. The only part of his body that moved was his eyes, which darted to Jane's direction.

"I…uh…Violet?"

"Violet? Violet Watson-Holmes…hm…no. I grew up with a Violet and I never liked her. She ruined the name for me."

"Oh. It was my mother's."

The words sank slowly into Jane's conscience. "Oh…"

An awkward silence passed between them until Jane said; "It's still a no."

Surprisingly, there was a husky laugh that echoed in her ear. "It was worth a try. Since my suggestion was turned down, why don't you make some suggestions?"

"Alright then…Florence?"

"No. Too medical."

"Amelia."

"Doctor Who."

"Elizabeth!"

"God save the queen."

Jane slapped him on the arm and Sherlock laughed. "What about your mother?"

Jane sighed. "Mary Watson nee Morstan. I don't particularly want Mary as a name. Practically every other woman in my family is called Mary. I want something that is unique to –"

Sherlock's mobile dinged.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled it out, glancing at the message on the screen. Jane looked at him expectantly. Sherlock bit his lip before he spoke.

"Lestrade. Looks…interesting."

"Rating?"

"Eight…possibly a nine."

"_Really_? What happened?"

Sherlock frowned. "Should we be talking about this now?" He nodded towards the gravestone.

"Hm…maybe not." Jane turned her attention back to the gravestone and ran her hand over it one last time. "I promise I'll visit soon, Dad. Love you."

Jane sighed sadly. "It's not fair. I just wanted more time. I didn't get long with him but he said something once and I swear I'll never forget it for as long as I live. He said, 'you know you are lost, not when you don't have the strength to carry on but when you don't have the dreams to sustain you'."

She tilted her head to look at him. "What about you? What was your defining quotation?"

Sherlock offered his arm to Jane who accepted it. They walked away from the grave and towards the gates. About halfway through the cemetery she heard Sherlock murmur;

"_Veritas est universalis. Perceptio veritatis est non_."

Jane had no concept of Latin and Sherlock didn't elaborate further but a word in the quote stuck in her head.

'_Veritas…'_

'_Veritas…'_

'_Veritas…'_

Jane stopped. She remained stock still. Sherlock turned to her, alarmed. Jane looked at him, a smile slowly spreading across her face.

"I know what the girl's name is going to be. Verity. Verity Watson-Holmes."


	15. When Harry Met Janey

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 15**

When Harry Met Janey

**(Week 9 – 2 months, 1 week)**

The day had come that she was dreading the most; telling Harry he was going to be an Uncle. She had rung him when she got up and arranged to meet in a café they both knew well.

She had planned the meeting place strategically; if it was a café only she knew Harry would feel out of place and that would reflect on the conversation. If it was a café Harry knew and she didn't, she would've felt uncomfortable and if a café neither of them knew them Jane would have no idea of the exit points if things became a little too much…

So, she had chosen 'The Little Blue Deli' on Greene Street. It was a nice little café, the kind of little gem that people tended to overlook if they hadn't tried it before. It was understated but very, very nice both in décor and cuisine.

The décor was shabby chic with a collage of different wallpaper and white vintage tables and chairs. The proprietor, Clara, was an old mutual friend of both Jane's and Harry's. She smiled brightly when Jane walked through the door. She rushed from behind the counter and hugged Jane tightly.

"Hello, sweetie! How are you? God, I haven't seen you in years, how are you faring?" Clara said, whilst stuffing her notepad and pen back into the front pouch of her green polka dot pinafore.

"I'm good, thank you. You're doing well, very well in fact." Jane said as she glanced around the café. Practically every table was full. "You couldn't spare a table for an old friend…please?"

Jane pulled her best 'puppy-dog' eyes and Clara snorted and laughed. "I knew that look was genetic. Harry gave me that look more than once, come on, with me. I think there's a table round the back."

Clara took Jane's hand and they walked to the back of the café, back to the more secluded area, where instead of the seating being tables and chairs, there were booths. Jane slotted herself in between the soft multicoloured Indian cushions and shifted until she was comfortable.

When Jane looked back to Clara, a slow smile spread across Clara's face; her eyes suddenly sparkled. "I wondered when you had gotten fat."

"You cannot tell –"

"Is it that Detective's you've been lurking around with?" She whispered excitedly.

"I am not at liberty to disclose that information and –"

"Ha!" Clara clapped her hands in joy. "I knew it! I knew it! You two look so sweet together. Ah…two miserable gits together."

Jane burst out laughing. "Cheeky cow!" She said before her tone became more serious. "Now, listen to me Clara. Seriously now, you cannot tell anyone understand me? No one. Not even Harry, okay? I'm telling him…if he shows up." She muttered under her breath.

Clara raised her eyebrow. "Honey, I've been keeping your secrets for years. One more isn't going to do much with the amount of dirt I've got on you already." Clara winked. "Right Madam, you getting anything now or waiting for that brother of yours to show up first?"

"I'll wait for Harry if that's okay."

"Alright, I'll show him in when he arrives." Clara squeezed Jane's hand and whispered. "You're going to have a baby!" before scuttling back to the counter.

Clara and Jane had never really been terribly close but Clara had always been a good friend of Harry's, as far back as Jane's memory would serve, anyway, and the two women always got on well enough.

She pulled out her phone, mainly to text Harry to ask exactly what time he would be arriving, and smiled when she saw five texts from Sherlock.

**What time are you coming back?**

**SH**

**You're not going anywhere far are you?**

**SH**

**Which café have you chosen?**

**SH**

**Ring me if you need anything.**

**SH**

**Is he there yet?**

**SH**

Jane texted back;

_I've only been gone for twenty minutes, calm down. _

_JW_

Just as she sent the message to Sherlock, she received a text from Harry.

_**Sorry, running about five/ten minutes late.**_

_**I'll be with you in fifteen.**_

_**Harry xxx**_

_Okay, I'll see you soon _

_xxx_

Jane relaxed back into the plush cushions and just seconds later her phone buzzed again.

**A lot can happen in 20 minutes.**

**SH**

She smirked as she typed the reply.

_I know you speak from experience, dear._

_Mind you…it was nearer ten._

_JW_

She sent the text and threw the phone back in her bag and, as she looked up she was greeted by the grinning face of her older brother.

"Hello, Janey."

"Hello, Harry."

Jane stood awkwardly and reached over to hug her brother. The hug lasted a lot longer than it normally would have in previous circumstances but there was one major difference that Jane noticed when she buried her nose in the crook of her brother's neck; he didn't smell of alcohol.

"You look…really good." Jane said as Harry slid down to sit opposite her. "Is there something I should know about?"

Harry smiled shyly. "Um…do you mind if we order first?"

Jane nodded. "Right, okay. What are you having? I'm paying by the way – ah, no. Don't argue –"

"Yes, I'm going to argue. I'll pay for this Jane…I've…well, let's just say I'm not in the same financial position I was a few months ago, so I want to pay for this. It's not often I get to take my baby sister out for lunch. Ah –no. _I insist_."

Jane rolled her eyes good naturedly as she gave in. Clara walked over to their table and beamed down at them, a little too brightly for Jane's liking.

"What can I get you two?"

"I'll have a chicken Panini, Jane?"

"Uh…can I…um…just salad for me…I think." Jane forced a smile at Clara who tried to suppress her smirk.

"Coming up. Won't be long." Clara went back to the kitchen and Jane took a closer look at Harry.

She wasn't exaggerating when she said he looked good. He genuinely did. His skin was tanned but didn't have the same yellow tinge as it did before. He looked wide awake and as Jane stared into his blue eyes, she was pleased to note that they weren't bloodshot.

Harry wore a suit which she had never seen before so she presumed it was new and what's more it looked expensive. The grey sheen of the suit complimented Harry's eyes perfectly and the burgundy tie somehow made his blonde hair stand out.

The two were similar in looks, apart from the fact that Harry was taller, stockier and a slightly lighter blonde.

Harry had known he liked men since he was fifteen and Jane was the first person he had confessed that fact to but he never had any of the stereotypical traits of a gay man. He never went to gay bars, he didn't like personal grooming and he'd choose The Sex Pistols over Kylie Minogue any day.

Their mum had been brought up in strong catholic family and although she'd dropped a few of the more excessive traits when she had married their father, she had still inflicted a few of the beliefs on Harry and Jane when they grew up.

Homosexuality being wrong was one of them.

It had taken three years of Jane's unwavering support, for Harry to finally have the courage to tell his mother he liked men when he was eighteen. She didn't take it well. And that, unfortunately, was where Harry's drinking problems really kicked off.

To be fair, being a teenager in the eighties had ensured that neither Harry nor Jane were strangers to alcohol. Harry first tried a drink when he was fourteen, Jane when she was fifteen but the problem escalated. Badly.

It was when Harry had nearly drunk himself to death one night when he was in his late twenties that their mother finally accepted Harry's sexuality and did everything to make it up to Harry. But, by that point the damage had already been done.

Although, neither of them truly blamed their mother for Harry's alcoholism, it was a main factor, yes but they each had their own coping mechanisms when their father died and religion was their mum's. Harry just got the brunt of that.

Two years before Jane was sent off to Afghanistan their mum died of a heart attack, two days previously Harry had taken Carl to meet their mother and legend had it that their mum was smitten with the choice that Harry made.

And, although Harry found it difficult to admit, he was smitten with Carl.

"So…how is everything with you?"

"It's…um…well in all honesty it's going well. I've stopped drinking. Well, I haven't stopped, _yet_, but I'm getting there. I've been cutting down for…three, three months now. A couple of weeks ago I'd only have one drink and day. Last week I only had three the entire week." Harry looked a little sheepish when he spoke next. "Carl…Carl has been helping me."

"Are you and Carl back together?" Jane said, unsuccessfully trying to disguise the happiness in her voice.

Sadness flickered across Harry's face. "No…we're just friends at the minute but I'm trying to prove to him that I can do this…" Harry looked down as he talked. "I want him, Jane. I know I hurt him and God knows I don't deserve him but…it's only ever been him."

Jane reached over and grabbed his hand when she saw the tears begin to well up in his eyes. She squeezed it supportively and patiently waited for him to continue. As surreptitiously as possible, Harry wiped his eyes.

"Stop it. You're making me look gay in public." Harry said with a smile.

Jane pulled back and crossed her arms. "Under the fake tan, the shiny grey suit and the bleach blonde dye, you're still a prick you know that, right?"

"I'm not the one living in sin…with a weirdo at that. You don't half pick them don't you Janey?" Harry crossed his arms copying her.

"Ha! That's rich coming from the homosexual." Clara said as she materialised at the table with two plates. She placed the salad in front of Jane, who was smirking, and the Panini in front of Harry, who glared.

Clara smiled condescendingly, she reached out and grabbed Harry's cheek. "And I can say that because I'm your bestest friend in the world ever." She mocked in a 'baby' voice.

Harry glared as he said; "And that's why I turned gay."

Jane laughed while Clara wacked him over the head with a tea towel. "Shut up." She winked at Jane. "Enjoy."

Jane giggled slightly as she began to tuck into her salad. Harry respectively tucked into his Panini. As they ate, Jane would catch Harry glance at her curiously. Eventually Harry voiced his ideas.

"Why are you eating salad? Oh God…you're not on one of those mad mid-life crisis female diet things are you?"

"No…" Jane shook her head and just as Harry took another bite she said; "No. I'm pregnant."

She heard him choke before she actually saw the coughed up bread inches away from her bowl. When she looked up Harry was staring fearfully at her with a deer in the headlights expression.

"W-what?"

Trying to keep as much of a straight face as she could possibly manage, she said; "I am pregnant."

The seconds ticked passed and Harry's face remained in a Neanderthal-like state.

"You're up the duff?" He blurted out a little too loudly, then he leant forward and whispered. "As in, genuinely..." He puffed his cheeks out to finish the sentence.

Jane tilted her head back and roared with laughter. Harry laughed nervously along with her.

"Is that a yes?" He said through gritted teeth.

Jane nodded because she simply couldn't talk due to the laughs that shook her body. When the truth finally sank in, a smile spread across Harry's face and he relaxed back. But then his face turned stony.

"Jane." He said sharply, which drew Jane out of her laughing fit almost immediately. "Not only do you live in sin with a man above your status but you conceive his child. Om…I'm telling."

In response Jane threw a napkin at Harry's face. Harry pulled the napkin off his face and threw it feebly back at Jane. "Name it after me?" He said with a lopsided grin.

"Sod off. I've already chosen the names."

"Oh…you have, have you? I take it your detective bloke didn't get much of a say in did he?"

"No."

Harry snorted with laughter at the bluntness of Jane's admission. "So go on, what is the little terror going to be called?"

"Excuse me, I will have you know my child is not going to be a terror." She said with mock affront.

"You're going to be the mother and Sherlock Holmes is the father. Of course it's going to be a bloody terror! I'm not surprised if it doesn't become dictator of the world by the time it's two! Right, so, come on. Names."

"If it's a boy then Jonathan, after Dad and if it's a girl then Verity."

Harry took a few moments to digest the names but when he did a slow smile spread across his face. "Good, good. They're…they're nice, Janey. Honestly. I approve."

"Oh, thank you. I don't know what I would've done without your approval." Jane rolled her eyes.

"If you need anything…anything at all, Jane…I'd be more than willing to help. I know I haven't exactly been the best brother in the world but I do want to change that..."

"Do you really mean that? That you would do anything?" Jane asked earnestly.

Harry nodded. "Yes, yes, of course I do."

Jane's face morphed into a devious grin. "Well then…looks like you just volunteered to teach Sherlock how to change a baby's nappy because I'm not bloody well doing it."


	16. Caring Really Isn't an Advantage

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 16**

Caring Really Isn't an Advantage

**Week 13 (3 months, 1 week)**

To say that Sherlock Holmes wasn't an overly sentimental man would undoubtedly be an understatement to say the least. Lestrade had only seen Sherlock show any form of affection twice towards him in all the years he had known him.

The first time was when much younger Sherlock was drugged up to his eyeballs and weeping like child and Greg had taken it upon himself to comfort him, the second was when he and Sherlock got pissed out of their skulls and Sherlock had confessed a few things to him that…well…he'd rather not think of again.

That's why he'd been mildly surprised when said man had showed up in his office demanding to go to lunch with him. But, he'd understood completely what Sherlock was going through, it was terrifying becoming a Father and knowing the control freak that he was he'd want to do everything right.

So, he'd agreed, only on the condition that Lestrade chose the place where they had lunch. In the end, he'd chosen a pub round the corner. Sod it, he wasn't strictly on duty, it was lunch time.

Sherlock had looked disdainfully at the establishment Greg had chosen but said nothing in complaint; instead he'd sat with Greg at the back of the pub and ordered a chicken risotto when Greg insisted he should eat too.

About halfway through Greg's chicken tikka masala, Sherlock put his fork down and leaned back so he could successfully pull something from his pocket. Without a word, he flattened it out onto the table and slid it across towards Lestrade.

Greg frowned as he placed his cutlery down and picked up the piece of paper. His face slowly softened as he saw what the piece of paper was. It was a photograph. It was a photograph of a baby scan.

Greg smiled up at Sherlock, who was staring at him with the same innocent expression that was normally reserved for when he doesn't understand the social standing of those around him.

"Do you know what it is yet?" Greg asked softly.

Finally, Sherlock's expression relaxed and he huffed in annoyance. "No. Jane insisted it should stay a surprise until the birth. Which, I tried to talk her out of because it is completely ridiculous."

Lestrade shrugged. "That's just the way it goes, sometimes." Lestrade picked the photo up and offered it back to him, but Sherlock shook his head.

"Keep it."

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. "Really?" He asked, weary of the fact that he was starting to feel genuinely touched.

Sherlock nodded curtly. "A godfather should have a picture of his godchild."

Lestrade's mouth actually dropped open. "What? You genuinely want me to be its godfather?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, if you were listening to my previous sentence you will find the answer in there."

"Alright, smart arse." Lestrade said, with a grin. "I was only asking because I thought perhaps Mycroft would be the godfather or Jane's brother."

"Yes, well," Sherlock stuck his fork back into the risotto. "Jane and I aren't over keen on our siblings being godfathers."

Lestrade nodded in understanding, both men had their eyes fixed back on their food, until Greg finally plucked up the courage to speak. "Sherlock."

The Consulting Detective looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"I'd be honoured. Genuinely. And, if there's anything I can do to help, then I'd be more than willing." Greg smiled, somewhat awkwardly but even Sherlock couldn't miss the honest caring.

Sherlock shifted in his seat. "Well, you see Les-Greg. I was hoping I could take you up on that."

Lestrade raised his eyebrow suspiciously. "Oh? And what might that be?"

* * *

_2 Days Later_

Lestrade wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, sighing as he did so. Sherlock stood next to him, with his hands the hips of his suit trousers, surveying what they had done. Greg ran a hand through his hair only to have paint residue stick to his hand and wiped the residue on the front of his jeans.

H tutted, as he tried to pull the dried specs of paint from strands of his grey hair. "Do you think we should've done it this soon?" Greg turned to the younger man. "I mean, in all seriousness, if, God forbid, something happened to the child…"

Sherlock turned his head away and simply stated in reply: "Nothing _will _happen to my child. I am certain of that."

Lestrade simply accepted the fact that, that was that. Sherlock could be as stubborn as a mule sometimes and more often than not it was easier just to go along with it.

Greg turned back to his work and with a growing sense of pride that only could be achieved by DIY. The bedroom, which he assumed to be Jane's old room, had been turned into a nursery for either a boy or a girl.

The overall colour on the walls was a soft green, with almost a blue tinge, which made the white silhouette of a large tree and birds painted on the walls stand out nicely. The furniture was made up a crib, chest of draws, with a built in changing area and a rocking chair, all made out of dark mahogany. But, the _pièce de résistance _was the hooks that hung from the branches of the tree, dangling beautifully crafted multicoloured birds over the crib.

And…all done in the space of an afternoon. They had worked well considering that every other word Lestrade had said was bad language and Sherlock had nearly thrown the crib out of the window.

Lestrade picked his jumper off the floor and pulled it over his head. "Right, well, I'm off. You can surprise Jane with this when she comes back."

"You don't want to stay?" Sherlock asked. "She and I would be more than happy for you to stay."

Greg chuckled knowingly. "No, trust me mate. When she sees what you've done to the room she's going to be very happy. Very, very happy indeed."

Sherlock simply frowned at him and Greg sighed. "Look, let's just say you'll know what I'm on about at the end of the night."

"Alright…well, um…thank you, Lestrade. For all your help. You've been indispensible the past couple of months…and I thank you for it."

Greg put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, "No problem, Sherlock. It really isn't." He meant what he said.

When it had emerged that Sherlock had done what he'd done to save his life, Greg had felt like chucking himself off a building. Not only was there the feeling of overwhelming guilt, survivor's guilt, they'd called it but he'd felt grief. Genuine, soul-shattering grief because Sherlock hadn't just been his friend.

Once upon a time ago a drugged up raving lunatic was bundled into Scotland Yard and never left. Lestrade had been there at the time; in fact he'd been there when Sherlock had needed him except for when it mattered. Not only that but he'd had to live with the fact for that three years, he'd sold him out. Well, to be fair he had given him prior warning which had cost not only his reputation but his job.

Yes, he still worked for the Yard but that had been down to…well, to this day he wasn't entire sure what it had been down to but what he did know was that over night he had lost his job and over night he gained it.

Then, he'd come back from the dead and Lestrade felt like strangling the bastard but he resisted. He was an officer of the law and it was more than slightly frowned upon if he killed someone and made it look like an accident…

"I know." Sherlock whispered and offered his hand to Lestrade, who shook it.

"Right, well. I'm off. Oh, and Sherlock…I'm more than happy to help you…but for the love of God, don't ask me to do DIY again."

Sherlock 'hmm'ed in agreement and walked with Lestrade as he headed out of the door and down the stairs. Lestrade pulled his jacket off the banister once he reached the bottom of the stairs. Just as he walked out of the door Jane and Mrs. Hudson pulled up in a taxi. He pulled up his collar and kept his head down and thankfully the two women didn't notice him.

He crossed to the other side of the road and was starting to hail a taxi when he stopped; this was something he had to see…he made himself comfortable leaning against a lamppost and crossed his arms whilst he waited.

About twenty minutes or so later he saw the shape of two bodies, one taller, one short with a rather rounded stomach conjoined at the mouth. Greg smirked to himself, before finally hailing a taxi.

_Very, very happy, indeed…_


	17. Cravings

**Author's Note:**

**_Hello! I just wanted to say thank you for all of the support! It means a lot to me. :)_**

**_So...I'm going to take a little bit of a gamble...I'm going to let you, my adoring fans, decide whether the baby is a boy or a girl. Who will it be? Jonathan or Verity? It's up to you. I've set up a poll on my profile so you can vote there._****_  
_**

**_I'll be honest with you, my preference is for Jane and Sherlock to have a little boy but to say thank you, I'll let you decide. Team Jonathan! :)_**

* * *

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 17**

Cravings

**Week 16 (4 months)**

Jane huffed and swirled around in the swivel chair, again. She couldn't bear to look at the bloody computer screen. It was as if the thing was taunting her, mocking her because she couldn't write. Well, she wasn't in the mood for writing and that was that.

She rested her hand on her stomach, her _growing _stomach. Jane had never really considered herself hugely fashion conscious but the fact that all of a sudden the majority of her clothes really didn't fit her anymore was starting to get a bit…well…frustrating. She knew it was silly and quite vain but it still made her feel uncomfortable…

Still, there was no reason to be worried for the baby, the first scan had proven it was healthy and when she went for the Nuchal Fold scan the results had shown that the baby didn't have any chromosomal abnormalities such as Down syndrome.

Which, in all honesty had been a huge relief to Jane and she suspected it was the same with Sherlock. Not that they wouldn't love it or treat it any differently but it was just one less thing to worry about.

The baby hadn't been truly unkind to her, she only suffered mild morning sickness but she had get the usual side affects like cramp, particularly in her legs and headaches. And not the mention the Varicose Veins…she'd all but given up on wearing skirts and dresses without dark tights.

Oh and last but not least, the backache…Jesus, it felt as if someone was digging a pneumatic drill into the base of her spine. Still, not much to complain about. With a grim expression she twirled around again, not noticing the fact that Sherlock was leaning against the door frame, watching her in amusement.

"Oh the simple pleasures are always the ones most treasured." He drawled and Jane swung the chair around listlessly to stare at him.

"Where are you off?" She frowned as she noticed he was wearing his coat.

"Just going to the shops. Is there anything you want?"

"Yes. Alcohol, eggs, cigarettes and everything else I can't have." She whined and Sherlock smirked.

"All the things you can't have…how surprising. Will chocolate do, instead?" He asked, relying on what Lestrade had told him about the relationship between women and chocolate to be true and he was not disappointed.

"Oh God yes!" She all but screamed.

Then, he surprised Jane by crossing the room and dropping a kiss onto her forehead. "I'll see you soon."

"Soon? How soon is soon? I want chocolate now!" She whined loudly and as Sherlock descended down the seventeen steps he shouted up, "Then go to Speedy's!"

Jane growled at him and the whole world as she resumed her spinning session. She didn't want to go to Speedy's. That meant getting up and getting up in involved effort and effort involved being arsed and being arsed involved…well, it involved being arsed, which she wasn't.

"Fuck sake." She swore softly. "Why does everything in life involve so much effort?"

She pushed herself up from the chair and grabbed her purse from the mantelpiece, checking that she had enough. She headed downstairs, not particularly bothered by the fact that she was still in her pyjamas.

The only thing she did do was pull on her jacket and zip it up as she stepped outside. The smell of fried onions assaulted her nose as she did and her stomach growled.

Oh God she wanted fried onions.

With chocolate.

She wanted friend onions with chocolate spread.

Urgh. The concept seemed sickening but she wanted it. She really, really, _**really **_fancied it.

She allowed her nose to lead her into Speedy's, feeling particularly rebellious. And, in that rebellion came ignorance because not for one second did Jane notice that a man stood across the street from 221B taking photographs with his phone, which would be used for nefarious purposes.

As Jane stepped into Speedy's, the photographer smirked underneath his baseball cap as he viewed the pictures on his phone. Doctor Watson was surprisingly photogenic even when her stomach was the size of a balloon.

When he sent the photographs he got the feeling that the Boss was going to be more than slightly pleased with this surprising little development. In fact, he was proved quite correct when he received a message back;

**Oh dear, it seems that our good Doctor Watson has got herself into a rather unfortunate predicament…**

**How interesting…**

**(:**


	18. Where Love Reigns

A Gift and A Curse

**Chapter 18**

Where Love Reigns…

**20 weeks (5 months)**

It had been too peaceful, too quiet. He knew it had all been simply too good to last. He had hoped, he had almost deluded himself into believing that they had been safe. Never in his entire life had he not wanted to be proved wrong more.

The small, almost weightless box felt indescribably heavy in his pocket as he held the package in his hand. He was shaking, he actually shook as he slipped his hand through the paper thin seal and allowed the contents to fall onto the table.

When he saw, his heart froze in his chest.

Everything he had worked for, everything he had sacrificed…now someone dared to try and take it away from him…

* * *

"Why?" Jane asked as she leaned against the bedroom door frame, watching Sherlock adjust his blue shirt for the umpteenth time.

"What?" He glanced at her in the mirror, taking in the black one shoulder strap silk chiffon gown and kitten heels and smiling slightly.

"You heard me. Why?"

"Isn't it what people normally do?" He said as he sat down on the bed to put his shoes on.

"Yes, but we're not normal people."

"Ah…touché." He smiled briefly as he stood up. "In answer to your question, you enjoy social events and it is widely accepted to that to broaden a child's social skills, one needs to induce social stimulation as early as possible."

Jane pushed herself up from the doorway and crossed the room, placing a chaste kiss on Sherlock's cheek. "That is a fair point but you normally tend to wait until the baby is born, still…I am extremely pleased and…somewhat intrigued." She turned on her heel and picked up a pair of ruby earrings from her dressing table, putting them in gently.

"So?" She asked, twisting to look at him. "Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

Sherlock moved behind her and picked up the matching necklace and put it on for her, his fingers gently brushing against her neck. "The whole point of a pleasant surprise is for the person receiving it to be pleasantly surprised. Now, we don't wish to be late do we?"

Jane growled teasingly at Sherlock's lack of compliance but Sherlock chuckled softly as he put his jacket on and slipped Jane's black cashmere coat over her shoulder. They walked down the hallway steps, Sherlock in front.

At the bottom, Sherlock pulled his coat from the off the banister and Jane glanced at Mrs. Hudson's door. "Isn't Mrs. Hudson joining us?"

"Yes, but she's making her own way." Sherlock answered, offering her his arm. She wrapped hers delicately around his and smiled. The smile disappeared from her face when she saw a classic black Jaguar Mark IX waiting outside the doorstep. She stared in awe at the beautiful machine and back to Sherlock, whose face had melted into a gentle smile.

"Really?" She asked, still not believing what was happening to her.

In reply, Sherlock stepped forward and opened the car door. Jane sat down onto the leather seats as gracefully as possible and moments later Sherlock jogged round the other side of the car and climbed in next to her.

Jane couldn't suppress a grin at the look of triumph on his face. "Where are you taking –" She cut herself off with a gasp when she saw the light bulb illuminated sign above her head. "The Ritz? You've taken me to The Ritz?"

As she got out, Jane linked her arms through Sherlock. They walked up to the carpet together and as the doorman opened the door Jane felt as if she was thrust into a James Bond film.

She looked around her, somewhat in awe at the beautiful décor and the beautiful people around her. Almost everyone was in tuxedos and evening gowns. All the women being 6ft, blonde and as thin as a rake and all the men looking like international spies.

"So…this is Mycroft's world…" Jane leaned over and whispered into Sherlock's ear as they climbed up the stairs.

"Ha! I am sure he would have you believe it but trust me when I say his world is much duller." Sherlock whispered back just before the maitre d welcomed them at the entrance to the restaurant.

"Mr. Holmes! Good evening, sir. Your table is just over here. Some of your guests have already arrived but I believe we are awaiting the arrival of two more. May I show you to your table?"

Sherlock nodded curtly and the maitre d weaved through rows of tables and towards an enclosed area, away from the mindless chatter on the other tables. There were several people already sat around the almost Arthurian table, talking quite happily away to each other.

Mycroft was sat next to Lestrade, both men looking sharply dressed; Mycroft wearing an impressively tailored grey three piece and Greg in what Jane assumed to be his Sunday best, which was a dark navy suit.

Both men were speaking intently to each other and absorbed in their own little world. What topic of conversation two men from almost two painfully different backgrounds could have was beyond Jane, but from the way they were chatting it seemed quite riveting none the less.

But, the two men stopped abruptly when Molly, who was sat the other side of Lestrade, saw them and squeaked in delight that was joined seconds later by a very glamorous Mrs. Hudson. Both Mrs. Hudson and Molly stood up to greet them.

Both women looked astounding. Molly wore a stunning red evening dress, which hugged her figure slim figure. She wore her hair down with it curling around her shoulders. She had a subtle shade of red lipstick and deep black eyeliner that brought out her chocolate brown eyes beautifully. In essence, she looked breath-taking.

Mrs. Hudson, in Jane's opinion, looked just as spectacular wearing a black chiffon dress, similar to Jane's but with a purple streak running down the centre. Her hair was straightened and she wore a black pillbox hat, with feathers protruding from a broach on the side of her hat.

Both women hugged Jane warmly. Then, Molly turned to Sherlock and in a fit a mirth, flung her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. Sherlock's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he gingerly placed his arms around her and patted her back awkwardly.

Mrs. Hudson followed suit practically seconds after Molly let go but added a quick kiss on his cheek for good measure. Sherlock flushed; momentarily overwhelmed by the physical attention.

In that time, both Mycroft and Lestrade had risen and Greg moved to hug Jane, it was somewhat awkward due to fact that it was over the table but she appreciated it none the less. His display of affection was much less reserved for Sherlock; they shook hands.

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and Jane felt a pang (dare she admit it) of fondness for the man. So, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek and suppressed a giggle when she saw his features flush.

But, oddly enough, Jane wasn't the reason for his discomfort. It was the fact that he now had to face his little brother.

"I do believe I haven't congratulated you. Well then, allow me to do so now." Mycroft said as he extended his hand to his brother.

Sherlock looked down at his brother's hand, the seconds feeling like hours, and Jane was just about to stamp the heel of her pumps on his foot when he grabbed Mycroft's hand, completely of his own volition.

There was a palpable relief that spread across the entire table at the Holmes brothers' temporary truce.

When Jane and Sherlock finally sat down that was when Harry arrived, accompanied by Carl. Jane beamed at Harry and rose with surprising speed, ignoring the pain in her legs and feet and pulled her brother into a spine crushing hug.

Then she turned her attentions to Carl, who stood only inches away from Harry. Her heart leapt when she saw how close the two men were to each other and how close their hands were to one another.

Carl stepped forward and kissed her timidly on the cheek and whispered in her ear. "Congratulations. You look wonderful."

Jane smiled as she squeezed his hand tightly. "Thank you."

Carl was undoubtedly a handsome man with his sharp features framed by a mop of light brown hair with friendly soft brown eyes. Carl was a naturally timid man but around Harry he seemed to relax, it was almost as if he allowed himself to loosen up.

Harry settled himself next to Jane and Carl sat in between Harry and a cheerful Mrs. Hudson who would, no doubt, yap Carl's ear off.

Conversation flowed easily from everyone, including Sherlock. The atmosphere was cheerful and everyone was at ease; no crimes or crisis. The food was excellent – not that it would be anything less and, in all honesty, so was the company.

Jane couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed the company of others quite so much; it had probably been around the same time she wore neon skirts and six inch heels

Throughout the meal, Sherlock stayed close; their hands brushed but never quite touched, it was pleasantly reassuring. That was until Jane noticed that at increasingly regular intervals his hand would disappear under the table and into his pocket.

Their eyes met at a glance and Jane raised an eyebrow at him. Of all the things they'd…explored…exhibitionism wasn't one of them and she wasn't about to explore it now.

But, the only response she got was a quite innocent smile. Ten minutes later she saw his hand disappear again and this time she decided to take action. She pressed down on his foot; hard. His reaction was a momentary wince. He cocked his head questioningly at her and blinked;

_S-O-M-E-T-H-I-N-G_T-H-E_M-A-T-T-E-R?_

She replied;

_A-R-E_Y-O-U_H-A-_N-O_E-X-C-I-T-E-D?_

He frowned at her, his eyebrows visibly joining together.

_N-O_W-H-Y?_

Jane resisted the urge to whisper, so whilst the waiter brought their fifth or sixth course, she blinked hurriedly.

_T-H-E-N_W-H-A-T_A-R-E_Y-O-U_F-E-E-L-I-N-G_F-O-R?_

Sherlock visibly paled at Jane's message and swiftly turned his attention to Mycroft and Lestrade's conversation about rugby – of all things. Jane frowned but decided to drop the issue – for a while, at least.

So she turned her attention to her brother, who was discussing how there was always a ridiculous amount of football on and then only Midsomer Murder repeats on other channels.

As their dishes were cleared away, Jane felt Sherlock fidget beside her and she was just about to have stern words with him through blinks when he stood up. The entire table stopped conversing and turned to look at him, who seemed pleased with the reaction.

"As you are all fully aware, Jane and I are having a child, and as unexpected as its arrival is, we are no less happy and as is customary…we have asked our closest friends and family here to celebrate. But I also wanted to make another unexpected –"

That was as far as Sherlock got due to the fact that the maitre d tapped him on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Sherlock merely blinked for a few moments, processing what he had been told.

_A package? What package? Who would send him a package and why here? Why now?_

"You will have to excuse me for a moment, please. There is something that needs my attention, I won't be long." And then Sherlock walked out of their enclosed area to where the maitre d waited for him; the maitre d wringing his hands nervously.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies for disturbing you sir but a gentleman is waiting with a package and he is most insistent you take it now. He is waiting in the foyer, sir."

"Yes, yes, sir." Sherlock said rather dismissively and the maitre d led him out into the foyer and down the stairs.

Sherlock looked around at the people still lingering, he scanned them quickly; none seemed suspicious or posed any sort of threat. The maitre d coughed beside Sherlock and handed him the package.

"I am terribly sorry, sir. The messenger seems to have gone but here is the package he left. Would you like to open it in privacy, sir?"

"Uh…yes, yes, thank you." Sherlock allowed his tongue and legs to work in autopilot whilst his mind was solely fixed on the package.

_Thin but strong. Standard issue Royal Mail. Can be bought anywhere. Adhesive lining. No writing on the package. Damn it._

The maitre d led him to a suite that currently wasn't in use and Sherlock in a fruitless attempt to calm his emotions, placed the packaged down on the table and paced up and down.

He scolded himself for his ridiculous show of emotion and he needed to get a grip; he couldn't assess the situation unless he opened the packaged and found out what was inside that bloody package.

* * *

"I know, I should probably wait to give you this but I'm going away tomorrow and I may not be back for some time so…could I-I mean we possibly give it to you now?" Harry announced suddenly about twenty minutes after Sherlock had left. Jane stared at her brother in confusion.

"Give me what?"

"Your presents!" Harry grinned and out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw Carl reach under the table. "We all agreed that we would get you something, so is it alright with everyone if I give it now?" Harry explained to Jane then looked around the table for everyone's approval.

"Oh thank goodness you said! I couldn't possibly wait any longer!" Mrs. Hudson smiled broadly.

"Yes, I think now would be around the right time." Mycroft agreed. "It would be wise to take an interval before dessert…just let me go and get Sherlock, Gregory, would be so kind as to give Jane my gift if I'm not back in time?"

Greg nodded, "Course."

"Excellent, thank you. I shall go and retrieve my bother." He said before rising gracefully and leaving the table.

Carl handed Harry three small bags, one red, one blue and one gold. He handed Jane the red one first.

"This is from Carl and I. It's your present – ah, no. No, don't say anything just…open it, please."

Jane pinned the lump in her throat down to her rollercoaster hormones and because she was getting emotional at the fact everyone was being ridiculously supportive and kind. It had to be the hormones, it wasn't emotion. She wasn't. Well…slightly.

"Oh Harry…it's beautiful." Jane's voice cracked as she opened the leather box to reveal a beautiful silver and rose gold bracelet; the decoration on the bracelet also being roses.

Harry leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Shh…it's alright, there's no need to cry. It's fine."

She slapped him lightly on the arm before pulling him into a hug. "I'm not crying you silly sod. Shut up. Thank you, you too Carl, come here." She said when she pulled away from her brother, wiping away the tears quickly, "Thank you Carl." She pulled into another hug, Carl blushed slightly as he sat down.

"The blue bag is Sherlock's present." Harry said and Jane swore she could see moisture in his eyes.

"Ooh, what is it?"

"It's a Baroque gents watch." Carl piped up. "Is that alright?"

"Oh that's wonderful!" Jane reassured him. "It's perfect timing as Sherlock spilled acid over his other watch last week."

"Finally, the gold one is for the baby, since it is the whole reason why we're here, I thought it should have gold." Harry smiled down at her stomach and Jane laughed.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Let's see what Uncle Harry and Carl have got you, you lucky thing." Jane pulled out another leather box similar to her own and opened it.

She nearly burst into tears again when she saw the silver bracelet and the rose gold heart pendent dangling off it; it had the word _Cariad_ inscribed on it.

"Cariad." Jane whispered. "Mum would be pleased." She turned to Harry and Carl once more. "It's wonderful, thank you so much. You see, you're not even born yet and you're spoilt rotten, you lucky thing." Jane smiled down at her stomach.

Mrs. Hudson rose from her seat and made her way over to Jane and sat in Sherlock's seat and took her hand.

"When I was younger I was quite adventurous. I know you wouldn't think of it to look at me now –"

Greg snorted at that. "Oh yes I would. I remember the time you attacked me with a frying pan because I brought Sherlock home late one night and he didn't have his key on him."

"What? When was this?" Jane asked.

"Oh, a couple of years back," Mrs. Hudson replied. "I think you were in Dublin at the time…or Belfast. Oh, I can't remember anyway, in my younger years, I was a bit of a traveller and I was in India for a time. I was walking along the road to Agra when I was stopped by a beggar.

"He grabbed my wrist and thrust a pendant into my hand and touched my stomach. He then mumbled something in Hindi but before he let me go he said, and I will remember this until the day I die, he said, 'Where love reigns the impossible may be attained'. Two days later I found I was pregnant with my eldest. I've kept it with me ever since but I want you to have it."

Mrs. Hudson took a necklace off, that Jane hadn't even noticed was there and placed it in her hand. The pendant was quite large; it was made of a flat pale blue Indian agate gemstone with a silver elephant trapped in the middle.

"Also, I've cut the rent in half, that's for Sherlock and there's another present, which will come in more use for the baby. It's back at home but I couldn't exactly carry it…it's a pram and one of those carry-things, dear."

Jane looked slightly lost at Mrs. Hudson's words; she simply stared at the pendant in her hand. "I can't accept this –"

"Oh hush!" Mrs. Hudson scolded lightly. "You can accept it and you will!" She rose and bent down and kissed Jane on the cheek. Jane whispered in her ear;

"Thank you, for everything."

"Oh shh. You'll start me off in a minute." Mrs. Hudson brushed her fingers against Jane's cheek and returned to her seat.

Jane put the necklace on and moments later, Molly scampered over to her, handing her a light blue gift bag.

"I-I know it's not much, and in light of what everyone else has given you it's really insignificant and it's mainly centred around the baby, sorry, but I thought about the things I really treasured when I was small and the two things were my Ambrose and blanket." She passed the gift bag to Jane. "I've made sure they're unisex."

Jane opened the bag and pulled out a wonderfully soft and absolutely gorgeous blue teddy bear with a bow tied around its neck. The teddy bear's bow was brown to match the inside of its ears, paws, nose and feet and also had blue polka dots along the bow.

Jane then pulled out a knitted blanket; it was dark navy with white stars all over it.

"Molly…did you make this?"

"Well, it's just blue was always my favourite colour when I was little because it reminded me of the sky and –" She tried to justify but Jane stopped her by pulling her into a hug.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's wonderful. Thank you so much. Has anyone ever told you, you have excellent taste." Molly blushed slightly but looked very pleased with herself as she returned to her seat.

Then Greg placed a package wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string in front of her.

"Greg you didn't need you to, you're gift was the room –"

"It's for all of you, I'd say. I'll be honest it didn't cost much but believe me, in later years, it'll be worth it."

Jane was intrigued by Greg's words and so was everyone else. Jane opened it to find a heavy black leather book. As if to answer an unspoken question, Greg spoke,

"Open it." He said in a rather low voice, as if to conceal an unusual amount of emotion.

And Jane did.

Inside was the photograph of the first scan with a message written underneath by Greg. He wrote;

_Your first beautiful child. _

_How do I know it will be beautiful?_

_Because it'll have the brains of Sherlock Holmes and the heart of Jane Watson._

That was when Jane really started to cry.

* * *

When he saw, his heart froze in his chest and tears began to sting his eyes.

On the table was…everything.

A photograph of _all _of the baby's scans. A photograph of Jane outside the door of 221B. A photograph of the baby's bedroom that could only have been taken inside 221B.

And a ring.

A white gold engagement ring with an encased sapphire stone on top. The exact same engagement ring that rested quite comfortably in his trouser pocket.

"Sherlock? Are you alright? They have decided to give the gifts. Apparently there are some gifts for you, so I do ask you to be civil towards them, they have put quite a bit of thought into it – Sherlock?" Mycroft ground to a halt when his baby brother turned around, tears spilling down his face, holding up two identical rings.

"What has happened?" Mycroft said slowly. The real meaning behind it being 'How can I fix this?'

In reply, Sherlock gestured to the table as he turned towards the bed and sunk onto the mattress, his head in his hands. Mycroft walked slowly over to the table, internally dreading every step.

His mind running through a million and one possibilities as to what could upset his little brother quite so much. None of them were pleasant.

When he saw the photographs, he held his breath. This…this was shocking. Truly…shocking. This was bold, crass. This was gloating; this was showboating of the worst kind. This was subtly telling a man that he could quite easily bring down his entire world in seconds.

_This _infuriated Mycroft.

Mycroft turned on his heel slowly and towards his younger brother. "Are you frightened, Sherlock?"

Sherlock ran his shaking hands through his hair slowly and he nodded. The action was small and looked almost indistinguishable from a mere twitch but Mycroft knew the signs.

"You really shouldn't be, brother mine."

"Oh?! And why is that?" Sherlock snapped, glaring at his brother in distrust, daring him to convince him otherwise.

With a grim, almost sadistic smile and what Sherlock could only describe as an evil look in his eyes, Mycroft said in a voice of silk that made shivers run down his spine;

"Because, Sherlock…_you have me_."


	19. The Bet

**_The Bet_**

**24 weeks (6 months)**

How it ended up with Jane sharing a cup of water with Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan was still a bit of a mystery to her but what surprised her the most was the fact that she was actually enjoying the chat they were having.

It had all started when Sherlock had woken her in the morning, thrown clothes on top of her, then threw them on her when she apparently wasn't dressing 'quick enough', bundled her into a waiting taxi and all but threw her into the Staff Room at Scotland Yard and told her to wait until he got back.

The only other person in the Staff Room had been Sergeant Sally Donovan. The two women had regarded each other for a moment, then Sally put the cheese sandwich, which had previously been halfway towards her mouth, down on the OK magazine on the table in front of her and said;

"I see fishing didn't work out for you then. So I take it you're more than just a colleague now?"

"Something like that." Jane said as she slid down onto the poorly padded blue cheap desk chair.

Sally bit her lip before rising and moving towards the sink. "Cuppa?"

Jane shook her head. "Can't. This one won't let me." Her hand went instinctively to her stomach. "But don't let that stop you." She added, finding herself somewhat sympathetic to the fact that Sally's lunch break was probably ruined.

"Thanks but I've had one already. Do you want anything else? Milk? Water?"

"Water would be nice, thanks."

"Kay." Sally moved over to one of the overhead cabinets and clicked her tongue in annoyance when she saw only cups were left. "Men. Bloody pigs. Can't even wash a bloody glass. Just once they could act like civilised human beings."

"Rough time with...?" Jane let the question hang in the air.

"You mean Anderson? Don't get me fucking started."

Jane thought carefully about what she was about to say next, coming to the conclusion that it wouldn't hurt to talk about it.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nah, it's alright. If I start I won't stop and anyway...I do sort of work with you so I do want to keep some of my professional pride." Sally returned to the table, she placed a cup in front of Jane and one next to her lunch.

"Anyway, what business has he got doing here? I haven't heard of any cases that would be up _his_ street." Sally asked, before taking a bite out of her cheese sandwich.

"You know, I think that's the first time I haven't heard call him 'freak'." Jane said calmly and, which to her slight pleasure, brought a blush to Sally's cheeks.

"Well, you and him are having a baby...uh...congratulations by the way...and he hasn't walked out on you...so I suppose I can respect him...temporarily. That and the fact that my brother's having a baby and I know how touchy his girlfriend's become. It's like she's developed bi-polar disorder. So I really am not going to say anything to upset an ex-army, doctor am I? I'm not that much of an idiot."

Jane couldn't resist the urge to smile. She and Sally had had never truly disliked each other; in some ways they were quite similar. Both were independent women with careers that depended heavily on competing with the rest. Jane could appreciate Sally's immense dislike of Sherlock. Sometimes, she couldn't stand the bastard, it was hard to imagine a woman like Sally trying to compete with Sherlock. A man who constantly stole her limelight, never let her do her job, criticised and humiliated her publically.

"I never thought you were an idiot and the answer to your question is that I don't know...he won't tell me."

"He won't tell you?" Sally raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean he won't tell you?"

"None of them will." Jane said, not even bothering to keep the annoyance from her voice.

"Them? Hold on, who's 'them'?" Sally frowned, and took another small bite.

"The fucking League of Gentlemen. I swear to God they've been getting on my tits."

Sally snorted so hard she nearly spat out the remnants of her cheese sandwich. She put a hand over her mouth and laughed, almost hysterically.

"And! They think I haven't noticed their little rendezvous. Their texts at all bloody hours and now he's dragged me in here. You know, he hasn't left my side for a whole _month_. He won't even let me go to the shop downstairs by myself."

"Maybe he's just worried about your well-being. First time fathers can be a pain in the arse too." Sally half-hearted offered the explanation.

"Nah...there's something going on. I can tell and your boss is in on it."

"Well it's hardly a surprise that those two are putting their heads together but think about it Jane, the only reason he would consult Lestrade would be if it were something...romantic." Sally suggested, her tone hopeful.

"That was the first thing that was in my head but why would Sherlock consult his _brother _on the subject of romance. There's three in on it."

"_What?_" Sally's jaw all but dropped to the table. "There's _two _of them?"

As if on cue, a similar silhouette of the elder Holmes glided past the window.

"That's him." Jane nodded to the door.

Sally rushed out of her seat and threw the door open, peering out. When he disappeared around the corner, she turned back to Jane.

"Brothers?" She echoed in disbelief. "_Really_?"

"Yep." Jane nodded solemnly.

"But he's bald!"

This time it was Jane that couldn't stop the raucous laughter that burst from her chest. Eventually, Jane managed to hush her giggling and Sally smiled with the most mischievous glint in her eye.

"I think my lunch break is just about over. Do you want to come back with me?"

"You know what, I think I might just join you." Jane jumped up, and tucked her chair under the table. An evil grin spread across Jane's face as an equally evil thought came to her. "How much do you want to bet that I make a room full of men shit themselves?"

* * *

Lestrade sighed for the umpteenth time. He closed his eyes and with his thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of his nose. As the seconds ticked on, he suppressed the urge – no, the impulse to punch the two men in front of him.

For over half an hour he'd received the bollocking of his life from Holmes the younger about his lack of progress on whoever appeared to be stalking Jane. The progress he had made was the name of the man; Parker. The man was a private investigator; he could be hired by anyone at anytime and apparently the person who hired him had contacted him only by text and paid in cash for the photographs and hadn't been in contact since. No name. No address. Nothing. And, to top it all off the number wasn't registered.

Then, Holmes the elder walked in and Lestrade really wanted to scream. The man had strolled into the office and under the glares of the two of them and planted himself in the chair Sherlock had occupied before he began pacing up and down. He proceeded then to smile down at them both and ask about what progress Scotland Yard had made with regards to the origin of the photographs.

Sherlock had snorted and said; "Practically nothing! It is a mystery as to how the police force even functions without even a spec of intelligence!"

"Now, now, Sherlock." Mycroft had reprimanded gently. "You know Scotland Yard simply cannot concentrate all their efforts on one particular case, where they are not even convinced there is a danger. No, they are much too busy catching petty car thieves and small drug dealers."

The back-handed show of support made Lestrade's head hurt and unsurprisingly sparked off another argument between the two brothers.

"Then I suppose you have some useful knowledge to add to this do you, Mycroft?"

"No. But then, I don't suppose your lines of enquiry have lead to much of a breakthrough, have they?"

Lestrade had witnessed many infamous Holmes arguments in the past but the tension between the two was taking it to a whole new level. Then, Jane walked in. Arm in arm with Sally Donovan.

Sally patted her arm gently, "Stay here, a minute, I'll just get you a chair."

Perhaps if Mycroft hadn't have been so startled by her arrival he would've offered her his and perhaps if Lestrade hadn't have been so shocked by the alarm on Sherlock's features he'd have offered his but they didn't.

"Jane…is everything…alright?" Sherlock asked uncertainly, reaching out to Jane.

Sally came back in carrying a chair and plonked it down, smiling condescending at Sherlock. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask, Jane."

"Thanks, Sally." Jane slowly lowered herself down; slightly exaggerating the effort it took her to sit.

"No problem." Sally winked and walked out of Lestrade's office, suppressing the urge to laugh. She was particularly excited to see what the doctor had up her sleeve and couldn't wait to see their reactions.

Sherlock stared at Jane; Jane could practically see the cogs whirl away behind his eyes. Eventually, it was Lestrade who decided to speak. "Are you alright, Jane? Do you need to call a medic?"

Jane shook her head. "No, no, I'm alright…" Jane reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand. She smiled weakly at him. "I just had to be near you…"

Mycroft and Lestrade glanced uneasily at each other and through a silent agreement, they decided it was Mycroft's turn, as the diplomat, to speak.

"Perhaps it would be in Jane's best interest if you were to take her home, Sherlock?"

Jane shook her head. "No, no, I'm fine. Please, don't let me disrupt whatever you were doing. Do carry on." She smiled up at Sherlock, then asked softly, "What were you doing?"

Sherlock coughed, clearing his throat. "It's to do with…a cold case…a few years back. There may be some new evidence."

"Really? Then what are you doing here, Mycroft?"

At the mention of his name, the man visibly started. "There are some possible ties to…organisations under my watch."

"Really? Isn't it a bit public to conduct the investigation in Scotland Yard?"

Each and every man froze in his place, luckily Mycroft spoke first. "There are some things even I cannot control."

"Oh…" Jane feigned a look of shock. "Well that must be worrying. Please don't let my being here distract you from such obviously important work."

Each man looked to each other, with a hint of nervousness in the each eye. Sherlock silently acknowledged that it was apparently his turn to talk.

"Jane, I don't want to –"

"_Ah_!" Jane gasped with a sharp intake of breath; her hands flew to her stomach.

Sherlock dropped to his knees and grabbed her hand, his face only inches from hers. "_What? _What is it? Are you alright? _Jane_?"

Lestrade flew out of his chair and ran into the main block of offices.

"Who's the First Aider? I need a First Aider! Oh bloody hell!_ Oi_! Donovan! Who's the First Aider?"

Mycroft simply turned an alarming shade of white but kept his composure the same as moments ago.

Jane transformed the giggle that threatened to bubble up in her throat into a low growl as she bared her teeth in what she hoped to convey as frustration. Heavy and rushed footsteps made their way back into the room. The first face to come into Jane's peripheral vision was none other than Donovan herself, looking slightly confused if the frown was anything to go by.

Jane took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly before putting her free arm on Sherlock's hand, the knuckles of which had turned an alarming shade of white.

"There's no need to panic. It's alright, it was just a twinge. They are not uncommon, this one just took me by surprise. I'm sorry if I _startled _everyone." The emphasis on the word made Sally's eyes widen with realisation, then morphed into amusement and finally respect.

Sherlock leaned closer to her, "Are you sure? Do you think we should visit the hospital?"

"I am a _Doctor_."

"You are also heavily pregnant and I do not wish to take any risks!"

"Honestly, Sherlock. I'm fine. I just want to go home and have a lie down..." She didn't add the final 'with you' but she smiled hopefully at him.

Sherlock sighed heavily and rocked back onto his heels, about to argue but his brother got there before him, speaking up for the first time since Jane had gasped.

"If you'll wait only a few moments, I shall have a car sent here to pick you up." Already he was taking his phone from the inside of his pocket.

"And take us to the hospital." Sherlock added.

Jane shook her head, exasperated at Sherlock's stubbornness. "I am not waiting four and a half hours for some snot-faced baby 'Doctor' to tell me it's just a twinge! Which is all it is!"

Just as Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, Mycroft tapped him lightly on the shoulder with his umbrella.

"If you'll excuse the interruption, I just wanted to say that the car is about five minutes away. By the time you two go downstairs, it should have arrived. Sergeant Donovan and Inspector Lestrade, may I ask a favour of you? Could you please escort Doctor Watson downstairs? I just need to have a quick conversation with Sherlock and I assure you he will be down shortly."

The authority in Mycroft's voice left no room for disagreement. Sally eyed Mycroft warily but didn't argue, Lestrade just looked relived that they'd be leaving earlier than he first thought.

Jane hauled herself up out of the chair with a helping hand from both Sherlock and Sally. Sally wrapped her arm underneath Jane's and they slowly began to walk. Lestrade got up to trail behind the two, casting a curious glance at Mycroft, his eyebrow raised in a question. Mycroft gave him a soft smile and a brief nod to signal it was alright. Almost reluctantly, Lestrade closed the door on the Holmes brothers, half wondering if it was really a good idea to leave them unattended in his office.

Sherlock leant against Lestrade's desk and crossed his arms. "Yes?"

"Clearly you have not told her." Mycroft's tone was almost accusing.

"Of course not." He snorted, disgusted with the obviousness of the question. "She has enough problems to deal with. _This _will simply frighten her, which is the last thing she needs."

"Stop underestimating her, Sherlock. She is stronger than you give her credit for. She deserves to know if she is in danger."

"In her ignorance, she is blissful and I don't intend to change that! So far we have made almost no progress! It's been over a month! You said, you convinced me that you could…" Sherlock closed his eyes, too frustrated with his conflicting emotions to carry on. He clenched his jaw shut when he thought; '_You made me believe in you, Mycroft.' _He almost wanted to hit himself for being so ridiculously sentimental. It was hardly the first time his brother had disappointed himself and they were certainly not sentimental men.

Sensing the internal turmoil of his brother, Mycroft leaned forward and tapped his umbrella on the desk next to Sherlock, bringing him out of his mind .

"We're too close for comfort, which is why you have not received any more of these packages. If he makes a move we'll know."

Sherlock lifted his eyes from the floor and fixed his brother with a cold stare. "He. You know who 'he' is?"

Mycroft leaned back in the chair, looking down at the superbly polished leather of his shoes with a grimace. "I think you know, Sherlock. I think you've known who the only person behind this could be."

And, indeed he did. He couldn't think of the name without a violent loathing bubbling up inside of him. He couldn't say it without that hatred spilling out. That was one emotion he would not conceal.

"_Moran._"

* * *

_**That Evening**_

"Sherlock? Sherlock? Are you coming to bed?" Jane strained to hear a reply and when none came she hauled herself up to a sitting position. "Sher-"

Just as she began to call louder, the man himself appeared in the doorway, pyjamas on but with his dressing gown tied tightly around him. He looked deep in thought and Jane wondered if he had even heard her.

She reached out and touched his hand gently, running her thumb along his pale knuckles, slowly waiting for the fog to clear in his eyes and for his consciousness to come back. It was always much better to speak to him softly and to touch him gently.

"_Sherlock_?"

He looked down at here, fog cleared, attentive and looking slightly worried but remained silent.

"Come to bed?"

He nodded, but he was still too subdued for Jane's liking. He switched off the lights and with expected ease made his way round to his side of the bed in complete darkness. He climbed under the covers without a word and offered to put his arm around her so she could lie on his shoulder.

"No. You come here." She all but forced her arm underneath his neck and pulled his head onto her shoulder. Jane leant over and kissed his temple beginning to run her fingers through his curls.

"What's wrong?" She whispered, knowing full well that he probably wouldn't answer.

For ten minutes or so simply played with his curls until he was ready to speak. When he did, he voice was so hoarse that for a second she didn't recognise it.

"Jane, if I were to tell you that I was indirectly responsible to something that would directly affect us…"

"I'd want you to elaborate."

"I know." The pure disappointment in his voice overwhelmed her so she added;

"And, I know we'd be able to find a way around it. We always do."

Sherlock didn't reply and the room was plunged back into silence. The only sounds were that of their breathing. Sherlock's arm snaked around Jane's stomach, his fingers splayed gently against the bump. Slowly his breathing began to steady and his body relax as he began to drift off.

Then the baby kicked.

The force of the kick not only startled Sherlock into full alert but caused Jane to jerk up, gasping painfully. Sherlock flew to the side and switched the side lamp on. He stared at her with doe-like eyes. She stared back in disbelief.

"It kicked me." Slowly, the disbelief turned into a smile and then turned into laughter. "It kicked me! The little bugger actually kicked me!"

Relief spread across Sherlock's features and he soon joined in and his low baritone laugh echoed around the room. He climbed back onto the bed and placed his hand on her stomach just as the bump kicked again.

"_Ow!_ Stop it you little blighter. Will you tell it to stop?!" Jane grinned at Sherlock.

"This is…"

Another kick.

"…absolutely _fascinating_." He beamed down at her stomach, his eyes ablaze with wonder.

"Bloody painful more like!" Jane tried to make it sound like a complaint but she simply couldn't. Not when she'd seen the look of pure delight in Sherlock's eyes, that hadn't made an appearance for a long time.

As she revelled in the moment although slightly uncomfortable as it was, she couldn't help but wonder what he had meant and feared it. Anything that could scare Sherlock Holmes couldn't be ignored. But the question was, how was she going to get him to tell her?

* * *

_**A/N: **Hello! I am so sorry that I haven't been updating for a while but it's exam/coursework time and for once in my life I've actually not been procrastinating all that much which is...weird. _

_Anyway, what I wanted to say was that the next chapter is the biggie! **It's the birth!**__So, I encourage you all to **vote! vote! vote!** Please... _

_**Sherlockedmyheart** xxx_


	20. The Birth

_**A/N: **__Greetings fellow humans! Well, I'm sure I've given everyone ample time to vote and you have spoken! _

_*Drumroll*_

_And you have chosen… _

_Well, you'll see at the end. Enjoy ;)_

_P.S. This is un-betaed and finished at 2 o'clock in the morning so I apologise for any mistakes._

* * *

**A Gift and A Curse**

Chapter 20

**The Birth**

_28 Weeks (7 Months)_

Weeks had passed since what Jane had come to refer as Sherlock's almost-but-not-quite-emotional-breakdown and he still hadn't told her what was wrong. She had used almost every method in the book to try and persuade him to tell her.

She'd attempted to use emotional blackmail, delving into some of her more disturbing memories buried deep down. He had only held her tightly and allowed her to pour her heart out and at some point tears had even trickled down his face.

She'd tried blackmail by saying that she'd post the picture of him wearing nothing but the deerstalker (to cut a long story short, she had initially laid on their bed stark naked, waiting for him to join her in bed wearing on the deerstalker. When he had finally joined her, he had undressed with a smirk and taken the cap off her head and placed it on his. Funnily enough her phone had been quite close to hand…) on his website. That elicited a disbelieving snort but no action was taken.

She had attempted to bribe him by promising sexual favours…which, out of all her plans had won the award for the quickest failing as they had ended up having sex, anyway. Finally, her patience broke and she confronted him.

He had looked at her with a wide eyed, innocent stare that at any other time would've made her heart melt but at that point, it just filled her with uncontrollable anger. That night had ended in a blazing row with Sherlock walking out. She didn't remember him coming back that night but the next morning she had awoken to gentle kisses on her cheek bone and tears running down the side of her face but Jane hadn't been the one who was crying.

So, she had begrudgingly left it alone. Sherlock, however, decided that he couldn't leave her alone. Everywhere she went; he followed. Every time she went downstairs to Speedy's he hovered behind her. Every time she went for a bath or a lie down, he joined her not to mention that solitary strolls were out of the question.

She wouldn't have minded if it weren't for the feeling that he was only doing out of duty; there was never any warmth in the way he held her or any enthusiasm in the way they conversed or affection in the way they held hands. It was as if she was living with the shadow of the man she once knew and it disturbed her.

The only time she got any time she got to herself was when Sherlock either went out to visit Lestrade or his brother, which was becoming more and more frequent. But even then, Mrs. Hudson would 'pop upstairs for a cup of tea and a chat, just to see how she was getting on'.

That morning she was woken up by two things; the first had been a searing, agonising pain that forced the air from her lungs and the second had been Sherlock shouting obscenities from downstairs. She had glanced at the clock she hadn't been surprised to notice that it was already one o'clock in the afternoon. Her late risings were becoming more and more frequent and the days of early dawn risings seemed to be but a distant memory.

She bit her lip to suppress the scream that threatened to tear from her throat as she struggled to get up. _Elbows first, one hand up next, then the other, swing legs off the bed and done._ No matter how many times she followed the sequence, it never got any easier, if anything it was becoming more and more difficult by the day.

Through half closed eyes she tried to slip her feet into her slippers and sighed heavily when she realised her feet had become too swollen for her even to slip her slippers on.

With one long sigh, she heaved herself up from the bed and (un)steadily to her feet. A moment of nausea washed over her and she reached out to the wall for support. After some deep breathes the feeling finally passed and she felt strong enough to begin her long waddle down the stairs.

By the time she had reached the bottom of the stairs she was panting frantically and clung onto the doorframe for support. Sherlock hadn't seemed to notice her as he leant over the desk, phone resting on his shoulder whilst he scribbled something down on a notepad.

"_Sherlock_." She said breathlessly, drawing his attention to her.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide and in one swift movement let the phone drop from his shoulder to his hand, cutting off whoever he was speaking to and stuffed the note into his pocket.

"Are you alright?" Not waiting for an answer, he moved over to her side wrapping one arm around her waist and held her hand.

They walked together into the living room and he gently lowered her into her chair. Without another word, he dropped to his knees, pulled a tub of Nivea cream from somewhere and began to gently massage her feet. There was no emotion in it, just a grudging obligation...

Jane put her head against the chair and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the pain and concentrate on the gentle soothing motion of his fingers on her painfully swollen arches.

"You know you're quite good at this." She said, trying to stretch but wincing as pain shot up her spine.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her as his dexterous fingers moved up to her ankle. "Is it your back again? That's been hurting you for over forty-eight hours now, should we go to a Doctor?"

Irritation flared up; how many times had he asked her that? Didn't he trust her judgement? Jane bit her tongue from saying something spiteful and instead said through gritted teeth;

"Sherlock, I am a Doctor. It's all perfectly normal."

"But you're in _pain_." He emphasised the word by digging in the tips of his fingers into her ankle.

"Just…get me some painkillers, please?" Jane sighed, as she pulled her ankle away from Sherlock's grip. She winced as she tried to move her ankle in a gentle circular motion, refusing to make eye contact with him.

Sherlock got up with a quiet huff; the only thing signalling his displeasure was the slight tightening of the lines around his mouth. Jane closed her eyes, determined not to get upset with him again. They couldn't have another row again, not so soon after the last one.

Jane had assumed, almost naïvely that having a child would bring them closer together. She would admit that she hardly expected tender-loving moments but she hadn't envisioned the nights he would sleep on the sofa, the mornings they would give each other the cold shoulder and the heated discussions in the early hours of the morning.

In the truces between the days, they treated each other as if they strangers. Awkward silences descended between them and it would always take a lot of effort to break them. Perhaps Sherlock hadn't even realised he was doing it, after all, his eyes always seemed to empty and cold and…_inhuman_. It wasn't even as if his head had been in the arguments; he was distant; mentally detached to everything around him and that terrified Jane beyond measure.

She had lost him once; she didn't want to lose him again or to put it more accurately; she'd be damned if she was going to lose him again. The problem was, how could she bring him back?

Knuckles brushed gently against her cheek and Jane opened her eyes to see a glass of water and two tablets inches away from her face. She took them from him and popped the two in her mouth, gulping down the water. Sherlock moved from her side and back to the desk where he picked up the note.

"Was it Lestrade on the phone?" Jane said, keeping her voice as steady as possible.

Without looking at her, he answered; "Yes." Angling his head towards her, he then added; "I may I have to go out for a few hours…will you be alright?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. Is it a case?"

"Of sorts…" He said, turning his head back to the notepad.

"One that you can't tell me about." She didn't bother to hide the distain in her voice.

Sherlock's shoulders visibly tensed and Jane felt a petty satisfaction that she'd somehow managed to get to him.

"It's a problem –"

"Is it the same _problem _you won't tell me about? The same _problem _that is ruining…us."

"Jane, please don't –"

"Why can't you tell me? What is that terrible that you can't tell _me?_ Something or someone is taking you away from m-us. Please just tell me _something_." Jane pleaded.

But, Sherlock remained stoic; he stilled and for a moment Jane thought she just might have won him over but to no avail. Sherlock just stuffed the note into his pocket and turned around.

That was when Jane knew she hadn't won; he had withdrawn himself again. There was no way he was coming back any time soon. Jane bitterly wondered if she would ever win. Somehow she didn't think it was likely.

"I'm going to be gone for a while, if there's anything you need ring me. My phone won't leave my side." He moved forward and bent down to kiss her cheek but Jane turned her head away.

The movement was only slight but it spoke volumes and the message was loud and clear. Sherlock remained still for a few moments and Jane felt his warm breath against her ear but then it was gone. Seconds later, he was gone.

Jane sat in her chair, trying to suppress the overwhelming guilt in her chest. She wanted to call out to him, tell him to come back and apologise and hug him and kiss him but she didn't and she knew she wouldn't. Whether it was her pride or just fear that stopped her she wasn't sure but whatever it was it still hurt, coupled with the fact that her back felt as if it was on fire it did not take long until the inevitable happened.

A sob tore from her chest just as she took a deep breath, very quickly followed by a flood of tears. She knew pregnancy made her hormonal but this was fucking ridiculous. But she just couldn't stop. So, she cried quietly into her chest, supressing sobs to shudders in the hopes that Mrs. Hudson wouldn't decide to 'pop in' again.

Twenty minutes wasn't a bad time her Jane to finally reign in her emotions but it did take an extra ten minutes for her to make sure that any more tears weren't going to fall. Just ten minutes after that she heard the familiar sound of soft footsteps on the stairs.

"Jane? Jane, love? Are you alright?" Mrs. Hudson softly asked.

"Yeah…" Jane replied sadly. "I'm fine. I could use with some company?"

Upon saying those magic words, Mrs. Hudson appeared into view carrying a tray of biscuits and two steaming cup of tea, along with a hot water bottle. Mrs. Hudson set the tray down and picked up the hot water bottle and handed it to Jane with a wink.

"Backache. Trust me, I'll do wonders."

Jane took the hot water bottle and placed it at the base of her spin, groaning in relief at the heat against her pain. She was immensely thankful for Mrs. Hudson's insightful knowledge, not to mention her mother-like compassion.

Smiling quietly to herself, Mrs. Hudson sat down opposite Jane in Sherlock's chair, cradling the cup of tea to her lips.

"Jane?" She said tenderly. "What's going on?"

Jane picked up her own cup of tea and looked down at the liquid fondly. "I wish I knew. I've tried talking to him, I've tried talking to those around him, I've tried shouting, demanding, crying, begging but nothing will make him budge. Do you know what's wrong?"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head disparagingly. "I wish I did, sweetheart. I wondered whether it was a reaction to…well…_you_." She indicated Jane's stomach. "He's just not right lately, I'm just glad he's confiding in someone – he's got that Detective Inspector and his brother -"

"Yes but he's not confiding in _me_." Jane snapped, she paled immediately but Mrs. Hudson remained unfazed. Jane turned her head away, took a few deep breathes and when she finally regained her composure, look back to Mrs. Hudson.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I'm just…" Jane bit her lip, "I'm worried about him and admittedly about…us. All three of us."

Just as Mrs. Hudson was about to speak her house phone rang from downstairs, she put the cup down and rose swiftly. "I'll be back in a minute, hold on!" For a woman in the middle of her seventies, Mrs. Hudson could certainly be quick on her feet when she wanted to be.

Jane sipped her tea quietly. The hot water bottle took some pressure off her back and the painkillers were starting to kick in but the pain was still pretty bad. Jane wondered if Sherlock had been right to question her judgement; perhaps she should see another Doctor.

However, the idea was quickly dispelled from her mind when Mrs. Hudson came back up the stairs, in floods of tears. Ignoring the pain in her back, Jane stood up.

"What is it? What's the matter? What's wrong?"

Mrs. Hudson wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry. It was a call from a hospital, my sister has had an accident… she's been rushed her into hospital and say they have to operate on her."

"Oh God…do you know what's wrong?"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head, "I think she said it was a car accident but I'm not sure. The nurse said that I should go down because they're not sure of her –" By that point, Mrs. Hudson broke down in a flood of tears and Jane wrapped her arms around her.

"Okay, she'll be alright. If you need to be by her side then you go. I'll be fine here, honestly – ah, no! I am a grown woman; I can take care of myself for a few hours. Do you know how long – no, okay. Right well, this is what we're going to do. You're going to go downstairs and pack whilst I'll arrange for a taxi to take you to…?"

"Leicestershire." Mrs. Hudson managed to say. "But Jane, are you sure –"

"I'll be _fine_." Jane assured her. "You need to be by your sister's side."

Having convinced Mrs. Hudson to go to her sister, Jane spent the next hour helping her back and arranging transport for her to get there. Once they were done and a car was waiting outside for her, Mrs. Hudson kissed Jane on the cheek and hugged her tightly.

"Look after yourself, alright?"

"I will, I promise. And ring me about your sister. If you want any of us down there with you, don't hesitate to ring." Jane reassured her.

Mrs. Hudson nodded and got into the waiting car looking fragile. _Fragile but resilient_, Jane thought. _Fragile but resilient_.

With an even heavier heart than she did this morning, Jane made her back upstairs, into the bleak silence. It was the same kind of silence that had lingered in the house when Sherlock had…'died'. It was haunting in the way it consumed all those in it; quietly taunting them. Jane had managed a month in the silence, she hardly believe that Mrs. Hudson had lasted three years.

She had made it halfway up the stairs when the pain kicked in and did it _really _kick in. Jane doubled over on the stairs, her hands clasping onto the top step as she groaned loudly. It was agony, Jesus, even the lightest twitch sent bolts of pain down her back.

It took twenty minutes of deep breathing and slowly relaxing her muscles before she finally made it to the top of the stairs but it came at a price. The pain seemed to shift, it was moving from the base of her spine to her stomach. She crouched on the floor, balancing herself by holding onto the banister and having her palm flat against the wall.

But, just as suddenly as the sensation came, it ebbed away. Well, enough so that she just about made it to her feet. Slowly but surely, she made her way back into the living room and collapsed in Sherlock's chair. She put her hands to her swollen stomach and between breathes spoke to it.

"Listen to me, Bump…you can cut this out right now. All you're doing is upsetting Mummy. You're not due for another two months so you can stop it…_ooooh!"_

Her voice dropped considerably as another stab of pain shot through her but, she gritted her teeth and clasped the arms of the chair with such force that her knuckles turned an alarming shade of white, determined to ride out whatever this little blip was.

Jane kept her head down, closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing; it would be alright, it would all be perfectly alright. Whilst Jane was in a haze blinded by pain, she didn't notice that the front door of 221B had been opened and that even, balanced footsteps were making their way up the stairs.

In fact, she only noticed the visitor when he coughed and Jane's head shot up and she saw one of the last people she expected to see.

"_Mycroft_?"

The impeccably dressed official, nodded, twirling the head of his umbrella absently. "Good afternoon, Jane. I am sorry for intruding but I did knock and you didn't answer."

Jane sighed heavily, disguising the whimper underneath it. "Yes, yes, fine. Look, if you're looking for Sherlock, he's out. Try the Yard."

"I'm afraid that I'm not here to see Sherlock. I'm here to see you." Mycroft walked slowly into the sitting room and sat opposite Jane in (what would usually be) her chair.

He crossed his legs. "Tell me, Jane. Have you noticed anything peculiar in his behaviour over the past couple of months?"

Jane nodded, not trusting herself to speak just in case a scream came out instead.

"Do you know the reason behind this?"

She shook her head.

"As far as it is for me to delve into your personal life, I must –"

"Oh for fuck sake! Just tell me!" Jane erupted, startling Mycroft to a few seconds silence.

"Perhaps this isn't the right time, you seem quite distressed –"

"No! No! I'm, I'm –" Jane whimpered softly before she could stop herself as her stomach felt as if it was cramping into the size of a tennis ball and her vagina felt like it was burning.

"Jane are you sure you're quite alright because you look rather unwell. Do you want me –"

"No! No!" Jane gasped, trying reign in some control; like hell she was going to let Mycroft walk out of the door without telling her. "Just please tell me."

Although not entirely convinced, Mycroft swayed.

"Alright, if you are sure. I must warn you, some of this you may find somewhat…distressing to say the least. As you are aware when my brother took his little hiatus, it was in the pursuit of Moriarty's web. Over the course of three years, he took down almost every link on seven different continents. But there were a few who slipped through his grasp. The majority of those weren't what you'd say loyal to Moriarty…more…loyal to his money. One of those was Colonel Sebastian Moran."

As if from nowhere, 'Anthea' appeared next to Mycroft and handed him a brown envelope which he passed into Jane's shaking hands and continued his narrative.

"Moran was one of Moriarty's more experienced assassinators, he once had a highly commendable and honourable military career but after a certain scandal – one of which I cannot divulge the details, he was urged to take an early retirement. Around two or three months later he entered Moriarty's service. We don't know whether or not the men ever came in contact with one another or if it was done like most of Moriarty's dealings; through numerous middle men…"

Jane's fingers slid easily through the adhesive seal of the envelope and she tipped the contents out onto her lap. One of the first she picked up was a photograph of tall, proud, clearly middle class man wearing khaki clothing, sunglasses and carrying a very impressive rifle.

"That photograph is the latest we've managed to get of him. That was taken in South Africa six months ago. About twenty miles outside Johannesburg. But we know he's come back to England."

"Why?" She asked as she took a shaky breath.

"It is because of my brother's actions. In many ways, Moran was Moriarty's right hand man. If we took him down it would essentially wipe out the rest of Moriarty's empire…so Sherlock pursued him."

It was then that Jane saw the photographs of the baby's room, photos of her at various stages of her pregnancy and even the baby's scan. "What's all this?"

Mycroft shot an uneasy glance at Anthea standing behind him and shifted in his seat uncomfortably before explaining. "Those specific photographs were sent to the Ritz Hotel on the night of our celebration. It's a warning."

"You mean that man…this Moran bloke…was in my baby's room?"

Mycroft winced. "It most probably wasn't Moran, it was quite likely a henchman but yes. Somehow, they have managed to infiltrate our security and that has been what Sherlock's has been working on for the past month but there has been very little progress."

Jane's breathing moved from slightly panicky to erratic in the space of a minute and everything below her lungs felt as if it was on fire. In seconds, Anthea was kneeling at her side and holding her hand.

"Doctor Watson, what is wrong? What do you need?"

Jane shook her head, feeling incredibly lightheaded from the hyperventilating. "I need to get up."

"No, I don't think that's a –" Anthea was about to disagree when Jane somehow got herself up and then something happened;

Jane's waters broke.

The look of horror on Mycroft's face would've made Jane's day if it wasn't for the fact that she was now screaming in agony. But in seconds, Anthea took control.

"Sir!" She snapped at her boss, drawing his attention to her. "I need you to ring for an ambulance then fetch towels and warm water."

Very few times in Mycroft Holmes' life had he ever been truly lost for words or ever felt quite so dumbstruck but this, staring at his brother's partner about to give birth to his nephew or niece and who had just involuntarily urinated in front of him, had to one of the most memorable ones.

Thankfully, his brain had still been working even if his mind hadn't quite caught up because his hand already held his mobile and was dialling for an ambulance.

"_Good afternoon, sir. What is the state of your emergency?"_

"I need an ambulance!" He shouted over Jane's howls; somehow, Anthea had managed to maneuverer Jane over to where the sofa was and had her sat down, stripped of her vestments from the waist down and was peering between her legs. Mycroft turned his eyes to the insensible skull on top of the mantelpiece. Oh, how he wished his eye sockets were vacant as well.

"A woman is having a baby one that is –"

"_No!_ No! No! This can't be happening! It's too early! _Ah! _It's two months early!"

" – two months premature. Security clearance ultra. Holmes, M."

"_Yes, sir. The ambulance has been sent. But there is a problem with the traffic, sir. It will be there in twenty minutes."_

"Twenty minutes?!" He barked down the phone. Unfortunately, it was loud enough to get Jane's attention.

"Twenty minutes?! What the fuck's he playing at! I haven't got twenty – _**Aaah**__!"_ A truly terrifyingly inhuman scream tore from Jane's throat.

"Only you know when to push Jane." Anthea said, pushing the hair away from her sweat-coated forehead. "But if you want my advice, I suggest you do it now."

"_I'm sorry, sir but it's the traffic. It's rush hour and there's road works to account for but they'll be here as soon as they can. Goodbye."_

Mycroft growled as he stuffed his phone back into his pocket. Anthea turned to him and said;

"Towels, sir! And warm water." It wasn't quite a demand but it wasn't a question either. He was sure to have words about it with her later but he decided to concentrate on the task at hand.

With the vigour of a man half his age, Mycroft bounded up the stairs to the bathroom and pulled multiple white towels from the radiator. It was then he remembered; _Sherlock!_ With no time to waste he pulled out his phone, rang his brother and with the towels safely tucked under his arm rushed back downstairs.

"Sherlock!" He said, relief flooding his bones as his brother actually picked up. He handed the towels to Anthea and moved towards the kitchen, pulling his suit jacket off and waist coat. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt before just as he switched the kettle on and rummaged for a plastic bowl.

"Sherlock! Listen to me! Jane has gone into labour. She is at 221B. I have called for an ambulance and they should be here in twenty minutes but I fear the child is still going to be born here. What? No. Anthea is with her….she is a trained – oh, it doesn't matter! Just come back here, _now!_"

He ended the call and poured the hot water into the bowl, also adding cold water to cool it down. He carefully carried the bowl over to Anthea's side, not spilling a drop when Jane screeched again.

"Sir, we need scissors." Anthea nodded to the kitchen again before turning back to Jane. "Doctor Watson, I think you should push. Ready, okay. In three…two…one…push!"

The cry that erupted from Jane nearly made Mycroft drop the kettle in his hands and scald himself as he sanitised the scissors. He quickly moved back to their side and placed the scissors on a towel in front of Anthea.

Just before he was about to move away, Jane grabbed his arm and hauled him down to the sofa. "Come here! You stay here!" He growled at him as she grabbed his hand and held on for dear life.

"Alright, Jane." Anthea smiled. "I think with one more push we'll be able to see the head. Okay, right in three...two…-"

"_**Aaahh!**__" _Jane's squeezed Mycroft's hand and he nearly screamed with her.

"Yes! Yes! I can see the head!" Anthea said joyfully. "I think it'll be out with two more pushes."

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh, God, _please make it stop_. _**Aaaah!**_" Jane cried and Mycroft found himself silently reiterating the words.

"Good! Excellent! Half of its body's out, just one last push and I swear it'll be over!" Anthea promised, holding what looked like to be a bloodied lump in the towel in her hands.

Mycroft knew he would never look at raw meat again in the same way…

"I can't! I can't! I can't do it!" Jane sobbed desperately.

"Yes you can!" Anthea encouraged her. "You've come this far, there's only a little way left to go just –"

"_**Aaaaaaahhhhh**__!"_ One final scream gave way to another as a younger, more joyful scream echoed around the room.

As Jane slid back on the sofa, Anthea motioned for him and Mycroft gently removed his hand and slid to the floor. "Cut the umbilical cord." She whispered, whilst washing the baby with a damp flannel.

His hands shook, they actually shook as he picked up the scissors and cut the thick cord covered in blood and cut it. The relief in the room was palpable. Just as Mycroft was starting to relax, Sherlock burst into the room. In seconds he took in the scene and his eyes filled with dread.

He moved over to Jane's side, kneeling down next to her and placed his forehead against hers. "I'm so sorry." He whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. I should've been here. I'm sorry. I-"

Before he could continue Jane pulled his mouth towards hers and the two kissed. It wasn't anything spectacular, in fact it was quite sloppy but it was everything behind it that mattered. When they pulled apart, Jane murmured;

"The baby."

Sherlock looked to Anthea, cradling the baby in her arms, singing softly to the baby. _His _baby. _Their _baby. He turned to her and whispered back. "It's alright, everything's alright."

Once the ambulance crew finally arrived, everything seemed to move so quickly. The medics took the baby from Anthea; they also carried Jane down on a stretcher and in an almost delirious haze Sherlock and Mycroft followed them down the stairs.

Sherlock stood on the front steps as he watched Jane and the baby be taken into the ambulance; in a rare show of emotion his brother's hand squeezed his shoulder carefully.

"Come, we'll follow them in my car."

For the first time in a very long time, Sherlock followed him without an argument and the two climbed in together, moments later followed by Anthea who had somehow managed to change her dress and wash, leaving absolutely no evidence that she had just delivered a baby. In fact, she simply looked down at her Blackberry and started to type. As the car moved away from 221B, Sherlock finally realised something.

"Mycroft…?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Do you know what gender the baby was?"

Mycroft frowned. "I…don't know." He admitted bashfully; how could he not know? How could the two most observant men in London not know?

Sat directly in front of them, Anthea began to giggle. The two men stared down at her but she remained undisturbed and with a smirk said;

"Well, _sirs_…allow me to enlighten you. Congratulations, Mr. Holmes! You are now the proud father of a baby girl."


End file.
